


End of the Night

by Kagemirai, Ranranbolly



Series: Hunters [2]
Category: Lost Boys (1987), Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Bloodlust, Ghost Town, Hunters, Hunting, M/M, Vampires, Vamps, vampire road trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagemirai/pseuds/Kagemirai, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranranbolly/pseuds/Ranranbolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of 'Half and Half', Sam isn't so lucky this time after his second run-in with the head vampire. So what else can David and the boys do? Santa Carla won't stay the Murder Capital much longer if they don't find Sam soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hard Time

Alan leaned against the door of the diner, eyes scanning the patrons there, glancing at his brother who meekly sat down at a table and began to examine the menu. It didn't sit well with him, the way his sire was brainwashing Edgar on a nightly basis, even if it made dealing with him a little bit easier. Now, here they were. About to have a late-night dinner. With...the absolute last person he'd wanted to see in the world, hiding behind a bar stool as if that would somehow protect him. He bit his lip and remained silent, no longer having the will to attack or try and fight with Quinton, but still not liking this _one bit._

"Ahh, Samuel, come out and have a seat please, we need to have a little conversation." He sat down smoothly, crossing one leg over the other, "Sit." He motioned for Sam to sit across from him.

"Look, man," Sam held his hands up in front of him, "I swear I wasn't...I'm not following you guys anymore, alright? I just wanted some coffee...that's all…" He continued to stand, despite what better judgment he probably had.

Quinton raised an eyebrow, "Sit, Samuel." He ordered, meeting his eyes, compelling him to oblige.

Sam pressed a hand to his forehead, mirroring what was likely the headache Edgar had complained to Alan about just after a particularly direct order from the master vampire. He'd like to think he'd feel sympathetic right now, if he cared anymore.

The moment Sam sat, Quinton released his hold, sitting back in his seat, "I would like to believe that, really, I would, but I just can't bring myself to think this isn't Providence that I found you here."

"Providence? Like...like Jesus or God?" Sam's eyebrows shot up, "dude, I don't think they would've planned this kinda shit."

"Very well, call it fate if it pleases you. I find it fortuitous that we encountered each other. I didn't want to let you go, no, not you, but I'm afraid I was left with no choice. Now, however, well, I won't be making the same mistake twice." He paused, "I will give you a choice, however."

"Okay. I don't even need to hear it, I already know what I'm going to say. I promise I'll go home, stay in Santa Carla, stay away from shit-suckers for the rest of my life...I'll even get an Art degree...or...a job at a souvenir shop."

He chuckled softly, "No, that isn't an option. Your choices are as follows, you can take Edgar's place, I don't require two servants after all, and he will be turned, or I turn you and Edgar remains human."

"That's...that's a tough call," Sam stammered, eyes darting about nervously.

"You have a little time to think on it, for now, however, I'm feeling a little peckish."

Alan made a mental note to make a phone call, the minute they crossed state lines. That was, of course, right about the time Sam jumped off of his stool and dived over the counter, shoving the kitchen door open and darting through into the back of the restaurant.

"...Shit," Alan sighed, glancing apologetically towards the dumb-founded waitress.

"Alan, would you be so kind as to collect him for me?" He shook his head with a sigh of disappointment.

"Yeah. I got it," Alan reluctantly pushed away from the door and crossed the diner, leaving Quinton to, what would no doubt be, a very big meal. He'd probably be too busy chasing after Sam to fucking get any of it.

* * *

David relaxed back in his chair, it was about time to return to Santa Carla's nightlife and he was looking forward to it. Michael and his little trip to find Sam had relaxed his fledgling and David couldn't be happier. Generally, they preferred to stick with round numbers...but the escapade with those teenagers wandering into their domicile recently had convinced them enough time had passed. The boardwalk was calling.

"We should get a chick," Marko called down from the ceiling he was dangling from, battling it out with Paul over a bet about who could handle the birds agitatedly pecking at their feet the longest. Paul was just barely hanging on with one foot, so he wasn't likely to win.

"Why?" Dwayne shot back, "They're nothing but trouble."

"Well, I mean...make her feed this time around," Marko replied, crossing his arms.

Michael rolled his eyes, flipping through an auto magazine, reclining on the couch, "it's crowded enough already."

David nodded, "Why do you want one anyway, Marko? The last chick you brought home kicked you in the balls."

Paul grunted, reaching up to bat away a few of the birds, "maybe he likes having his balls k-" Marko slugged him in the shoulder, sending him flying towards the ground. He barely had enough time to recover, avoiding a fairly nasty crash, "you dick!" He snapped, settling his feet on solid earth.

"I liked Star," Michael lowered his magazine, "before she ditched me. I _liked_ her."

"They're fickle, I liked Star when I met her but it didn't turn out well...I suppose one good thing did come out of her at least." David leaned against his fist, elbow propped up on the side of his chair.

"You know, what we _could_ do…" Paul mused, flopping down on the side of the fountain and drawing his feet up so he could examine and pluck at bits of caked-on feathers, "it'd be good for a laugh. Maybe make a game out of it…"

Dwayne glanced over at him and snorted, not even bothering to ask. Any idea that came from Paul was bound to be the retarded stillborn of a harebrained thought. Hardly worth listening to, much less worth saying.

David rolled his eyes, "And what exactly is that?"

Paul grinned, "if Marko really wants one, let him pick one. Bring her back...give her a couple of days...three...four...come up with a bunch of crazy shit for her to do, and if she finishes all of it, then we turn her. Proves she's worth keeping around, and even if she isn't...it'd be fucking hilarious to watch."

Their leader looked thoughtful, "I don't want to turn one but we could have some fun with one for awhile at least."

Michael tossed his magazine to the ground, "you guys are dicks. Just throwing that out there." Even years after the fact, he was still a little sore about the maggots and worms. Gender didn't really mean anything. They clearly fucked with everyone.

"I'm not," Dwayne looked offended. "I'm practically a saint."

"Liar," Marko snickered, biting the thumb of his glove. Stubbornly clinging to the perch above them, even after beating Paul.

"So...when are we going out?" Michael glanced over at David, shifting on the couch to make room for Dwayne as he cross the lobby to drop down beside him.

"Now sounds like a good time, it's a nice night, let's go have a little fun with the locals." David cracked his knuckles, getting to his feet, "After all, they don't know what they've been missing."

* * *

Burgers popped and sizzled on an open grill, while girls in cheap bright skirts and highlighter pink bikini tops floated around the patio at the burger shack, and a crackling radio announced the latest billboard hits before being swiftly interrupted by a quick news update about the attack or 'accident' over in Belleview.

"Authorities are still uncertain what exactly happened in Nancy's Diner last week...suspicious activity...animal attacks…" The voice faded in and out, battling with a dozen other signals for attention, "will not be releasing any further details...conclusive...tragedy...twelve dead…" Finally, the cook reached over to switch the station, and the news anchor lost her battle with Nicki French.

Dancing carousel lights. A ferris wheel spinning to the beat of the live music pumping out of boardwalk speakers. All the while, the girls in the cheap bright skirts skated away from the burger shack patio, and the eery echo of multiple revving bike engines hailed the arrival of the first bikers anyone had seen around Santa Carla in years.

Five young men pulled up and parked as if they'd always been there, as if they belonged. They slid off their bikes, taking in the sights. Three blondes and two brunettes stepped away from their bikes, onto the wooden planks, their boots thumping against the ground loudly.

The one in front was dressed in a worn leather trench coat, his light blonde hair cut short, spiked up slightly. There was an odd familiarity about him to the locals, but for the few who paid him any attention, they simply dismissed the idea with only a mild sense of wariness.

The girls in the cheap bright skirts twirled on their skates as they passed him, smiling to each other before dashing inside a small souvenir shop, giggling and poking each other in the shoulders.

They didn't look like the sorts of boys you'd bring home to meet your parents. Even one of them, who a few people actually recognized as the moody young mechanic who would occasionally service their station wagons and pick-ups. But there was something different about him now. He seemed more at ease, happier, than he had working at the auto shop. Judging by the company he was keeping, too, he looked like he fit right in.

A pair of bald punks watched them stride across the wooden slats of the boardwalk, passing a joint back and forth and whispering to each other, one of them eyeing a particularly nice set of boots worn by the brunette in the back with the commercial model hair.

The blonde in the loud vest grinned at them, giving a little wave as they walked past, it seemed like their interest had been spotted.

"Think we can take them fags on, Benny?" One of the punks whispered, screwing up his face as he tried to hold his breath in for a few extra seconds before finally coughing up a breath of acrid smoke.

"Yeah, no problem, they all look like pansy-asses."

He passed the joint back to Benny, covering his mouth and laughing under his breath, "get a few of the guys together, then, see where these ladies head off to...probably get a few bucks for one of those bikes they came in on…"

"I want those boots too." He grinned, "Beat the shit out of them, take their stuff, not like they deserve it."

"It's our city anyway," he agreed, "our beach. Our waves."

"We'll teach them." He nodded, "Let's go get the guys."

They pushed off of the building they leaned against, while Benny managed to just nudge the last member of the biker gang before they disappeared in the crowd. He chuckled to himself as he glanced down at his brand new set of keys.

* * *

Quinton let out a long sigh, he had given Sam three hours to decide who was going to receive the blood and he was still being stubborn. He looked at Alan, beckoning him over. His fledgling reluctantly complied, practically dragging his feet as he approached, avoiding meeting Quinton's gaze.

"He is stubborn, isn't he?" He questioned, looking over at Sam and Edgar.

"Doesn't want a liquid diet, I don't blame him," Alan replied, staring down at his feet.

"Perhaps it shouldn't be his choice, perhaps it should be yours."

Alan jerked to attention, " _what?!_ "

"Since Sam is unable to decide, someone else should make the decision for him. I already know what I would choose, however I don't want to be the one to decide. Therefore, that leaves you. Which shall it be, your brother or your friend?"

He clenched and unclenched his fists, "I think you should give him more time," he responded through gritted teeth, biting back as much of the resentment in his tone as he could.

"Three hours isn't enough? How much time should I give him?"

"Maybe you should just let them go. Just tell them not to follow us. I'm pretty sure they'd listen," even to his own ears, it sounded like a pretty pathetic response.

"Try again, Alan, you know the reality of the world." He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, "I have no intention of letting either of them go."

"Why not?!" Alan demanded, and then took a hasty step back, "I...I didn't mean that…"

His eyes narrowed, "Alan, do we need to have another _lesson_?" He warned, looking at his fledgling. He wasn't broken, but it could be arranged if he persisted in his little outbursts.

"No. I'm good," Alan replied hastily, "I'll...I'll go talk to them…"

"See that you do."

They'd found a small house, unpresuming. Rundown. The middle-aged couple who lived there were tied up and locked in one of the bedroom closets for a late-night snack, if the need arose. There really wasn't much time to hang around, given Quinton's apparent need to cut a swathe through the places they were going. So, Alan knew he'd have to make his choice quick. Whether he wanted to or not.

Pushing the bedroom door open, he strode inside and summoned up his best game face, grinning down at Edgar and Sam tied down firmly in a set of dining chairs they'd drug in from the kitchen, "how you guys holding up, huh? Get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"Aspirin," Edgar groaned, his head slumping forward. The trances were really doing a number on him, now. Alan wondered if he'd be able to convince his brother to stop fighting so much, if it meant keeping him from hemorrhaging.

"How about you, Sam? Made up your mind?" Alan crossed his arms.

"I can't! Can't you help us, do something? Alan, I want to go home."

"You kind of blew the last chance I gave you, dumbass," Alan sighed, rubbing at his temples. "He'd kill me if I let you go, you know that? I mean really... _kill_ me. Permanently, this time."

"I was going home! Michael and David came and untied me and I was going home! I just...I wanna see my mom." He bowed his head.

Alan rolled his eyes, kneeling down to pat Sam on the cheek, "you should have gone home right then and there. What the fuck were you thinking, stopping at a diner...or anywhere...until you got right back to Santa Carla? You _knew_ we were out grabbing a bite to eat. Seriously, Sam...you're supposed to be smart."

"I was hungry and tired and I needed coffee, asshole!"

Alan glanced over at his brother, and then right back at Sam. He made his choice. "Don't worry about it. After you eat, you'll feel a lot better," he told him briskly, striding towards the door, "sorry, Sam. Maybe you can just...I don't know...call her or something."

"Alan?! Don't do this! Come on man, please."

He paused in the doorway, tapping his nails on the frame, "sorry, Sam. It's too late for me. Too late for all of us."

A sob escaped his throat, how could Alan do this to him but was there ever really a choice? Sam had to admit that if it came down to Alan or Michael he would pick his brother, he supposed that Alan was the same. What was worse? Having his mind fucked with like Ed or turning? He wasn't sure. There was no doubt in his mind that Quinton would make him feed this time. He knew the moment Alan walked out that door to go report to his sire what he'd decided that he was royally fucked. A soft sob escaped his throat, he wanted to go home. After tonight though he knew it wasn't going to be an option.

"Stop being a pussy, Sam," Edgar finally grunted, shaking his head and squinting at him in the dark. Of course Alan hadn't bothered leaving the light on for them. "I've got a plan...I think we can make a break for it if we work together," he took a deep breath, "but...I think I'm gonna need you to do the _deed_ …" He nodded towards the door.

He scowled, "Ed, I really don't think either of us is gonna be able to kill either of them, we don't have any weapons!" He paused, "And what if it's Quinton and not Alan that comes for us? What then?"

"Well…" Edgar looked up at the ceiling, "then I'll do what I gotta do. I don't know about you, Sam, but I don't wanna eat people...and I don't wanna clean up after Satan's ass-muncher for the rest of my life, either." There was a finality in his tone. They both knew they weren't going to be able to take on Alan and Quinton, but Ed was clearly of the 'die tryin' philosophy at this point.

Sam sighed, what else could he do? "What's your plan?"

"...I've got a razor taped to the bottom of my shoe," Edgar grunted, nodding down at his right foot. "If I can lift it high enough...shift the chair...maybe you can grab it and saw at the ropes around your wrists. We break one of our chairs, try to stay as quiet as possible...climb out the bedroom window...and if they chase us, we give it every fucking thing we've got!" He sucked in a breath of air, lowering his voice at a warning glance from Sam, " _we give it every fucking thing we've got!"_ He hissed.

"Well, give me your foot then."

Giving one quick, nervous look at the door, Edgar began to bounce up and down in his chair, scooting it back with small, anxious squeaks, until he finally managed to move it far enough back so that his legs were facing the back of Sam's chair. With a grunt of success, he kicked up his foot, pressing his shoe into his friend's bound palms.

"Dude, there's nothing here." He glared at him over his shoulder.

"What?! No. I taped it there. You're just not feeling it in the right place," Edgar shook his head violently.

"I've felt all over it, there's nothing here!"

"That's impossible. I taped it. Right around the heel part."

He dropped his foot, "Must have fallen off!"

Edgar threw his head back with a frustrated sigh, "this wouldn't have happened if you guys had just waited for my chicken pox to heal. We could've taken this son of a bitch on in one day, and been back home, easy," he sobbed, "and now...now my brother's a blood-guzzling night bitch, Sam. A blood-guzzling night bitch!"

"This wouldn't have happened if you weren't such a fucking hypochondriac!"

"I could have DIED!" Edgar snapped, glaring at the back of Sam's head. "You have no idea the pain I went through, waiting for you two to come home…"

"You didn't have chickenpox and you didn't have some skin eating disease, you didn't have cancer the last time either. This is your fault!"

Edgar swung a leg up and kicked Sam's hands, grunting as he repeated it several times, "we're going to die! We're going to die, because you two screwed this whole thing up!"

"Now boys, you need to learn to get along." That was Quinton.

The two humans paled considerably, both looking towards the doorway, where the light seemed to illuminate the master vampire from behind, making his silhouette that much darker. Edgar whimpered, "I'm sorry Sam...this was my fault...you're right…" Given their situation, if either was going to die, they definitely didn't want to do it pointlessly cursing each other's names.

Alan stood behind Quinton, purposely looking away from Sam and shifting on his feet. "Get we get this over with? Still have to black-out those van windows before dawn…" He mumbled under his breath.

"Hush, Alan, this is something to be celebrated." He moved forward, standing in front of Sam, grasping his chin and tipping his head up, "Now then, are you ready?"

There was a faint groaning from inside the closet. The homeowners had finally woken up.

Sam jerked his chin away from the vampire's grasp, "eat dick, dude. Just...eat dick." He was going to die tonight. There was no other answer for it...but Sam wasn't going to just go down without a fight. Or at least a few retorts.

He chuckled softly, "Such fight still in you, this will be enjoyable." He looked toward the closet, "And your dinner is waking up."

"No…" Sam whispered, glaring over Quinton's shoulder at Alan. The guy who was supposed to be practically a second brother to him...just standing there...watching. " _NO."_ He wanted to talk to his mom. He wanted to go back, to do what Mike told him to do in the first place. He pretty much fucking wanted to do anything but be here right now.

"Shh." He brought his wrist to his lips, biting down, the blood welling up over his skin, "It will all be over soon, Samuel."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Alan mumbled under his breath. "You too, Ed…"

The bloody wrist was pressed to Sam's lips, as he desperately struggled to breathe through his nose, and Edgar watched in horror. But he wouldn't open his mouth...he _wouldn't._ He couldn't. Quinton stroked through his hair, unmoving, merely pressing insistently against his mouth, "We have plenty of time, you will feed, one way or another."

Sam knew there was only one fading hope left, a final chance...he just wasn't sure how the hell he'd be able to avoid feeding long enough to get his brother or grandpa on the phone. Maybe he'd get lucky, and this asshole would just bleed long enough to pass out. Could a vampire faint, he wondered, delirious in his fright. A drawn out sigh escaped Quinton's lips and he dug the fingers of his free hand into his jaw, prying it open and letting the blood spill in, hot and thick.

He tried to spit it out, but the gesture itself was nearly impossible. This tasted...so much better than the animal blood he'd had to drink and wretch up, so much better than a barn owl, or even the lingering taste the last time he'd been unwittingly forced to drink the bastard's blood. From what he could remember of the aftertaste, anyway. It also triggered something in Sam he hadn't felt the last time either...a more vicious hunger. More...animal.

"You're giving him too much!" Alan exclaimed, taking one step forward and wringing his hands together; he hesitated before drawing back again, so as not to rouse his sire's anger.

"There's no such thing as too much." He stated, finally pulling his wrist away, "How're you feeling, Samuel?"

He panted, licking at the blood that dripped around his lips and gazing up at Quinton with eyes that quickly clouded over in an inky black haze, "... _hungry…"_


	2. The Van

Lucy gently knocked on her father's bedroom door, drawing her shawl a bit tighter over her shoulders. She was so cold these days. Just another issue on top of a growing list.

"Come in." He huffed from behind the door.

"Dad, have you heard from Sam? He hasn't been home in several days or called me, or...well, Michael hasn't visited either. I'm a little worried."

He scowled, "Haven't heard anything, no calls, nothin'."

She looked up, and then back at him, steadying her smile as best she could, crossing her arms over her chest, "do you think I'm over-reacting? I mean, I know they're both grown men. I just think...well...they get themselves into a lot of trouble, and I'm really worried it's something serious this time." Though how it could be any more serious than severe sensitivity to the sun and a desperate need to drink blood, or chasing after monsters on a weekly basis...she hadn't any idea. "I was thinking about maybe going over to Michael's apartment tomorrow, talking to him. We could have a nice dinner together."

"I think we should just wait, he'll be back soon I'm sure." He was hiding something, she could feel it.

"Dad, is there something you want to tell me?" She stepped into the room a bit further, uncrossing her arms, "if something happened, I'd like to know." Oh lord, had Sam decided to go hunting again? Or maybe even convinced Michael to join him? She wasn't sure she could handle that.

He shook his head, "Nothin' for you to worry 'bout, Lucy."

She nodded slowly, "maybe when Sam comes home...or Michael...maybe we could take a family trip to the beach. Would you like that? You never leave the house these days." Lucy wasn't too sure she'd be able to much longer, anyway.

He nodded, "Yeah."

* * *

Off and on, they could always count on one particular group of idiots to breed and grow, to induct new members and cruise the boardwalk, always overly-confident in their abilities to surf and hassle people. Yes, there was nothing more amusing than a cocky Surf Nazi. Even if Paul didn't really appreciate how they'd treated his bike. They'd _ruined_ his bike, destroyed it, and he was pissed.

"Hey, it's not that bad…" Marko remarked, pulling away from a nastily shredded jugular, "bit of buffing...bet you could get some good scrap cash for it." He used a long pinky claw to dig at a bit of flesh stuck between his teeth.

"Keep an eye on your pockets next time," Dwayne added in a much less patronizing tone, preferring the general bluntness of saying it outright. He was busily dipping his bloodied hands in a plastic bucket of ocean water, picking away at the crusts around his cuticles.

"They don't have the sense to know not to mess with us yet, we've been gone for a few years. We can't expect fear right off the bat." David said, flicking a bit of skin off his coat, "They were messy."

It probably wouldn't have been quite as bad if they hadn't tried to run, or at least hadn't nearly totaled Paul's bike. That mistake had, unfortunately for them, riled up his temper enough for him to make his kills thoroughly grisly. Not to be outdone, the rest of the pack happily followed his example. Michael reclined near the shore, watching the pinkish foam lick at the remains of his own meal, occasionally shifting his boots to keep them from getting wet.

He glanced over at Paul, who was busily scrubbing at a stain on his shirt with a shredded cotton tank, "you could get a pretty good one, you know. Maybe better than the rest of ours," he smirked.

"Perhaps we should all get new bikes, see what happens if we leave the keys with the bikes." David said thoughtfully.

"You do that," Michael replied, shaking his head. "I'm good." He hadn't bought his with his hard-earned money four years ago to trash it for an experiment. Whether he could easily get a new one or not now was besides the point.

"Yours is newer than ours." Marko grinned, "Yeah, let's get new bikes, I want a new bike!"

"Support the local economy," Dwayne agreed, pulling his hands out of the bucket and flicking droplets of water into the air.

"Alright, it's settled, new bikes for everyone." David splashed water on his face, rubbing the blood off.

"We should give them a viking send-off," Paul patted the dented side of his former friend, slain in battle. "Shit-loads of kerosene...fireworks...booze…"

"Since when did Vikings have fireworks?" Michael quirked an eyebrows, sitting up and shaking sand from his sleeves.

"I suppose since Paul decided they did." David shook his head, "I still want to see if someone will steal them."

"Oh, man...let's leave them somewhere good. Like right outside a fucking pawn shop," Marko grinned, "or a liquor store...wherever those stupid shits like to party now."

"Marko's got the right idea." David grinned, "We can plan a little more or just got for it, what do you want to do, boys?"

"You nutjobs can do what you want, I've got to swing by the house and check up on mom. Pretty sure she's about to have a meltdown if grandpa let the cat out of the bag…" Michael climbed to his feet, glancing down at the body nearby, "how do you usually clean up out here?"

David grinned, picking up a body and carrying it out over the water. After snapping it's neck to make sure he was really dead before dropping him into the water, "Like that or we set them on fire, that works too."

"Sometimes I like to take them home and play charades," Paul snarked, grabbing the corpse beside him and throwing an arm around the headless man's shoulders.

"Take care of a body and you can go check on mommy, just be back home in an hour, alright?" David said, landing in front of Michael, "Got it?"

Michael rolled his eyes, "yeah. I got it. Want to sprinkle a little more patronizing bullshit on that sentence for me?"

"I could, want me to?" He smirked, "Just don't stay out too long, you don't want me to come find you."

He shrugged in response, before he knelt down to snap his corpse's neck, careful not to get any blood on his clothes if he could help it. Visiting mom with a massive pool of gore soaking into his shirt probably wasn't going to do anything for her peace of mind, "yeah, sure. I won't be out long."

"Good." He looked at the others, "Let's go get us some new bikes, see you at home in an hour." He said to the fledgling.

They made quick work of the bodies, and by the time they were done, it wouldn't be too terribly difficult to believe there'd been a nasty shark attack on the beach. There hadn't been one in almost a decade...they were due for it anyway.

* * *

A run-down van bought with a wad of only slightly used dollar bills, a dead stripper, three cans of black spray paint, several dozen pounds of dirt, a canvas draped up behind the front seats, a quick little session with some firm mental commands for Edgar, and they were on their way. Sam had made his kill and Quinton couldn't help but think that he was perfect, covered in blood, a true predator. Even more enthusiastic than Alan, who admittedly, enjoyed his meals even if he wore a sour face after the fact. The next thing they had to do was find the perfect place to settle down.

"Is there a place you've always wanted to go?" He asked Sam, glancing over at him.

The blonde dug his feet into the thick layer of dirt they'd filled the back of the van with, looking thoughtful for a moment, "I dunno. Mexico?"

"Very well, that's where we shall go." It was always good to let people believe they had control, power, especially fledglings. Sam would be the perfect vampire. The way he had taken to the change was absolutely fascinating. It was night and day. Perhaps it had been the initial amount of blood he had fed him or maybe the blood drew something dormant out of him. It would be interesting to experiment with.

' _ **SMACK!'**_

"OW! Dude, what the fuck?!" Alan rubbed at his cheek and punched Sam in the shoulder, scooting away from him to put some distance between them.

"That's for punching me earlier and tying me up...twice...you dick-face," Sam retorted, settling down amid the rough bumps and jerky stops of the van.

Alan glared back at him, and it looked like he was just about ready to launch himself at the blonde.

"Now, boys, behave yourselves, no fighting." He said calmly, absently, as though he honestly didn't care if they fought or not. Sooner or later they'd have to figure out their pecking order, anyway.

A look flitted across Alan's face. Perhaps a thought. An angry retort. He looked over at Quinton, and then back at Sam, who looked fairly pleased with himself. The decision made, they were at each other's throats like a pair of screaming cats in less than an instant. Rather difficult, in such a small space.

Quinton sighed, watching them intently, "I suppose you'll figure it out eventually, come now, one of you has to win."

"Everything okay back there?" Edgar called out, just as the van began to accelerate down a hill, and Sam slipped, smacking his head on the back door, giving Alan the upper hand. He happily took it, pulling the other fledgling into a firm chokehold.

"Everything is fine, just focus on the road. It seems the boys need to establish their place in our pack."

Sam kicked and punched at Alan's arm, until finally playing the dirtiest move he could think of...which...sadly left the brunette down and out for the count for several seconds as he groaned and attempted to recover with his head pressed against his knees.

Quinton clapped, chuckling softly, pleased with the outcome, "I believe you've lost, Alan."

Sam rubbed at his neck, glaring down at Alan without an ounce of sympathy in his eyes. Not that he'd really be capable of it anymore, anyway. After the rather colorful way he'd disposed of that stripper...there couldn't be any doubt about that.

Alan tilted his head back just enough to meet Sam's gaze. It didn't look like this fight was over. Just...postponed. Rather amusing, actually. The first time Quinton had seen them, they'd been fighting in much the same way. Drunk on an entirely different kind of refreshment.

"I look forward to your further dominance fights, the two of you are entertaining."

"He didn't fight fair," Alan grumbled, once he'd finally managed to recover enough to unlock his arms from around his knees, and shift around to put more distance between himself and Sam.

"Bite me," Sam spat back.

"All's fair, Alan, you need to learn that."

He had the good sense, this time, not to talk back or look Quinton directly in the eye. They already knew who was in charge now, and even Sam had learned fairly quickly to do the same. He was also exuding a very smug air right now that made the fact a non-issue, anyway.

They had a good few hours before dawn, and plenty of time on the road before Edgar would have to find a safe place to park for the morning. Somehow, watching the pair brood didn't seem like the best use of their trip together.

* * *

The first thing Michael noticed when he pulled up to the house was the absence of Sam's car. The second thing he noticed was the light glaring through the kitchen window. It meant mom was probably stressing out. She usually spent her time out on the porch this time of night before turning in. He hopped off of his bike and quickly dashed to the front door, giving a sharp rap on the door. Grandpa's junk-heap was gone. So...he was probably out boning the old broad with all the dead dogs…

"Mom?" Michael called out, "mind if I come in?" Hell, if she was alone, he might as well get an invitation when he still could, without breaking the bad news. The door swung open.

"Oh! Michael! I'm so happy to see you!" She smiled at him, "Come in."

He covered his grin, stepping into the house. He felt an odd sense of comfort wash over him that he hadn't felt the last time he swung by. Like he could do anything he wanted...which really, he wasn't even about to test, but the feeling was pretty awesome. No wonder Max had been such a happy bastard the one time he'd been invited over for dinner. "Hey, mom, where's Sam? He go out for late night groceries or something?"

Her smile fell, "He hasn't come home, I was hoping he was with you."

Michael bit back an angry, curse, and forced a smile, before putting his arms around her shoulders, "don't worry about it, mom. He probably decided to spend a few days with the Frog brothers, make sure they're all right after everything that went down." Like fucking _hell._ That little weasel was going to get the asskicking of a lifetime when he found him.

She pulled him close, hugging him against her chest, "Michael, I've missed you."

"It's only been a week, mom. I'm not going anywhere. I just had to take care of some stuff," he kissed her forehead. "How're...things?" He could still smell the cancer. Growing. Thriving. Death was taking out a lease on her bed, and she didn't have anyone besides grandpa to help her. It wasn't getting better...he should've just come out and told Sam himself. Maybe he wouldn't have gone on his stupid little hunting trip and gotten them all royally screwed in the process.

She looked away, letting him go, "I wish I could tell you things were better but last time I did you called me out for lying." She laughed softly.

"Fair enough," he looked under the kitchen table where Nanook perched, tired, whining softly on his forepaws, "it's not good for you to sit around worrying, mom." He shrugged aside a nagging thought, "how about we watch something on that tv I bought you last summer, huh?"

She nodded, "My Fair Lady." She smiled at him, musicals always had a place in her heart. He bit back an uneasy complaint, and simply nodded. Screw it. He'd deal with David later.

"Sounds good. Popcorn?"

* * *

David slid his fingers over his shiny new bike. The black and chrome were just what he wanted. Now he needed to go find Michael. It had been well over an hour since they parted and there was no sign of him. That meant he was going to have to take care of things himself. He revved the engine, listening to it roar in response, a grin spreading across his lips as he took off toward Michael's old home. The new bike almost made up for Michael being a dick, almost.

He spun to a stop in front of the house, sending a cloud of dirt up into the air. He didn't care if Lucy knew they were still alive, didn't care about being discovered, he just needed it to be clear to Michael that he was in deep shit.

A few minutes passed, and then the porch light switched on. Another minute, and Michael was slowly closing the front door behind him, glaring daggers across the lawn at David. David glared back, waiting expectantly for him.

Michael leapt over the side of the porch railing, narrowly avoiding a freshly-planted row of perennials, and slowly strode over to meet him, "didn't need to be that loud."

"You're 30 minutes late." He stated, eyes narrowed.

"You didn't give me a specific time," he replied matter-of-factly, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

"I said an hour, it's been almost 2, pretty sure that's a specific time." He leaned forward.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. Lost my fucking glass slippers."

David growled softly, "Are you trying to fucking piss me off?"

Michael pulled a hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair, sighing, "no, sorry. Sam didn't come home. Mom wanted to watch a movie...I lost track."

The look on his face softened slightly, "Movie over?"

"Hell no, it's only halfway through. She fell asleep on the couch." He shook his head, "I'm just glad she didn't pick Gone With the Wind. I love her, but I'm pretty sure I'd lose it." He paused, "I have to find him." There was the familiar determined set to his jaw that could easily lead to a fight if Michael lost his temper.

"Alright, tomorrow night we'll go find him, have a nice road trip. It's too close to morning for us to go now. Deal?"

"Yeah," Michael nodded, "Deal." He held out his hand to David.

He took it, shaking his hand firmly, "Alright, let's get home."

"Sounds good to me," Michael pulled his hand back and walked towards his bike, which was only parked a few feet away.

He smirked, "What do you think of my new bike?" He followed along behind him slowly.

Michael eyed it thoughtfully, taking his time. "Looks like it'll probably get you a lot of tail," he revved his engine.

David grinned, there was only one piece of tail he wanted but that would have to wait for a little bit, at least until they found that asshole of a brother. David gunned his bike, taking off toward home, Michael hot on his heels.

* * *

"In other news, the body of a local woman was found inside her car yesterday morning. Police have no suspects. Witnesses say she was posed in a strange position, half hanging out the shattered rear window, her arms spread wide."

Ed immediately turned off the van radio and let his head fall forward against the steering wheel. Between the blank spaces in his mind left after his talks with the bloodsucker, the resulting headaches that made him pop aspirin pills like skittles, and the fact that the two people he cared about most in the world were effectively heartless monsters now…Edgar Frog was having a _very...very_ bad week. Not to mention how hard it was to stay awake and keep guard over the van while he waited in a shaded gas station parking lot. He'd spent the whole day shuffling in and out of the store to grab a bottle of water or the dessicated corpse of what was surely a chicken burger at one point before the heat lamps were done with it. The paranoid minutes he wasn't jumping at the slightest sound of something shifting inside the back of the van, or a person walking by and eyeing him curiously...Edgar was painfully wracked with guilt.

Guilt for Sam and Alan. Guilt for the people that had already died as a result of their maddening appetites. Guilt for the people who _would_ die...and guilt that even now, with them at their most vulnerable, he couldn't bring himself to throw open the back of the van to let them roast in the sun. The combination of the asshole head vampire's brain-raping and his remaining hopes that there was enough left of Alan and Sam in both of them to somehow bring them back to themselves...it was going to make him go nuts. If the headaches didn't kill him first.

Okay. So maybe he couldn't do what _had_ to be done. He couldn't rid the world of those monsters in the back of the van...but he _could_ warn people away, and make sure nobody got killed around here when the sun went down. With that in mind, he climbed out of his seat, and stomped around to the back of the van, spreading his arms wide and proceeding to screech out a slough of cryptic warnings about the minions of death lurking in the back of his van. He did this for the good of all humanity.


	3. Hard Time

He didn't dream. Hadn't dreamed in quite some time. But the speed at which Michael fled from his perch, once he'd managed to claw his way out of sleep, would have convinced anyone he'd had a night (or day) terror the likes of which no sane person could imagine. He didn't want to feed tonight, or linger and waste even a second that could be spent on the road. It was anyone's guess whether or not his brother was even still alive.

He was halfway through his second cigarette by the time the others had decided to join him outside on their bikes, and Michael had half a mind to just leave on his own in the time it took for the rest of the pack to rouse themselves.

Michael flicked the remains of his cigarette to the ground, "you ready?" He asked, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other, before mounting his bike.

David slid onto his bike, "Take it easy, Michael, we're going." He stated, "We are going to have to feed you know." He turned the key, listening to his bike purr while the others followed suit.

Feeding. Always feeding. While he definitely enjoyed it, there was something unbelievably annoying about being practically ruled by the hunger, or the fact that even when he was physically sated...it still lingered and nibbled at his thoughts, "can't you just...do that thing?"

"Thing?" Dwayne asked, climbing onto his bike.

"Just push it away for a bit. Do we really have to hunt right _now?_ " Michael tapped his fingers on his bike handle.

"Define 'a bit'." David eyed him, "That would be taking on four other hungers you know, on top of my own."

"Taking them on?" Michael's eyebrows shut up, surprised.

David raised an eyebrow, "What did you think I did?" He questioned.

"He can't just make it fly away, Mikey," Paul grinned, "it's got to go somewhere. He's been pretty bitchy the last 8 years, too, keeping you a happy little halfie."

Michael glanced over at Paul and flipped him the bird, "Honestly, Michael, really? You thought I could work some magic and just make it disappear?" He rolled his eyes, "Let's get going, we'll feed on the way."

Well...now he felt stupid. Still, apparently smarter than his little brother, who Michael had decided was either losing IQ points at a concerning rate these days, or had a not-so-secret suicidal streak going. He should've just told those Frog brothers to fuck off back in high school, before it got this bad. Now he was going to have to leave Santa Carla for the third time in less than two weeks, and there was a nagging feeling that this time it was going to be a lot longer than just a couple of hours driving to a roach motel.

As they kicked off their bikes, he avoided thinking about that night at the shit-hole Sam had been found the last time. It had been an insanely stupid mistake on his part. He didn't plan on repeating it.

They drove in silence, the only sounds were the roar of their bikes as they headed toward the motel where they had left Sam. It was the only lead they had so at least it was a start. The scent trail had already run cold, so they had no choice but to talk to the fat slob at the front desk. At least it was something.

David didn't even bother saying anything, just reached across the counter and jerked the man over it. So much for keeping things low key. Somehow, Michael doubted any of the boys new the definition of the term.

The man kicked his feet back and squirmed, trying to pry David's immovable fingers from his shirt collar, "what are you doing?! Take the money in the till, it's yours!" He was breathing heavy and fast. Hard to tell if it was because of the shape he was in, or his legitimate terror at the sudden appearance of an unpredictable and violent albino.

"Have a couple questions I need answered." He paused, "Couple nights ago there was a kid here, room 17, know anything?"

"Wh...what?" He squinted his little beady eyes, and Michael was legitimately concerned there'd be a urine stench to sour this interrogation long before they got any straight answers.

David sighed, "Just answer the question, I shouldn't have to repeat myself."

He sputtered, "no kids. Just some nutjob in a suit. DIdn't want anyone bothering him...saw the guy take a couple of dirty-looking johns in there, then they were gone a few hours later," he grunted, "you see a lot of that shit in this business. He your 'pal' or something? Listen, I don't tell the cops anything... _you don't gotta worry_..." Yep. Michael could _definitely_ smell piss, now. He bit back a laugh when he noticed Marko out of the corner of his eye smoothly cover his nose with a glove.

"Did you see what direction they went?" The least he could give was some directions before they ate him.

"I think," he gasped, clearly on the verge of blubbering, the way those tears were trickling from his beady eyes into the folds of his sparsely pimpled cheeks, "I think I saw him talking to Pamela...bought her old crap trap of a van off her, then they blew the joint. Haven't seen them since, I swear...think they were headed north…maybe..."

David tossed him to the floor, "It's a start at least, who wants dinner?" He didn't want to eat the fat man but that didn't mean someone else wouldn't.

"I-I-I think there's fruit loops in the breakfast cupboard…" The guy gasped, scrambling on the ground and giving great gasping sobs. None of them bothered keeping their human guises, in favor of watching him scream.

It was Paul who finally decided he was hungry enough to eat the blubbering fool, getting far too much on his skin, staining his shirt, "Look what you did, dick!" Marko glared at him as Paul flicked blood at the other vampire.

"You're gonna have to wash up, now, idiot," Dwayne sighed. "I kind of doubt we'd get very far without a swat team on our asses, looking like that."

"...Fucking perfect…" Michael groaned. They didn't need this right now. The universe and Paul were conspiring against him.

"Paul, grab the keys to a room and get cleaned up, the rest of us are gonna head out." He paused, "Marko, go with him." David didn't feel like dealing with the mess, it wasn't close enough to home for him to care.

Marko threw up his hands, "great. Babysitting Paulie. What else is new?" He slapped Paul on the shoulder and nodded towards the door.

"So what, they're going to catch up later?" Michael was visibly relieved. The longer they drew this out, made pit stops, got turned around, the more likely they were just going to find Sam's dumb ass stuffed in a dumpster somewhere, or...well, fuck, he didn't want to think about the other alternative.

"They'll figure it out," Dwayne shrugged as a very satisfied, though somewhat disgusted Paul led Marko from the room, several sets of keys he'd filched from behind the counter jingling in his pockets.

David was back on his bike without another word. They would stop at the next gas station, see what was on the news, try and figure out where little Sammy was. If the guy in the suit was Quinton, which David didn't doubt, then they would have to track him down, see what happened. Given the fact that the guy had been sleeping for who knew how long, it wasn't unlikely he'd be leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs or corpses for them to follow.

* * *

He hated being arrested. They always asked too many questions, confiscated his stuff, and then he had to spend a night in the drunk tank. At least this time he was by himself, it was more relaxing that way. At least he was by himself, the door opened and a sun-burnt, scruffy-looking young man was tossed in with him.

"I was just trying to warn people! They'll wake up any minute, now!" The kid shouted, gripping the bars as the cell door was slammed beside him.

He scowled, "What're you talking about, kid?"

The kid spun about, pressing his back into the bars, eyes darting about like a caged animal...which, essentially was the idea, " _bloodsuckers. In my van…"_ He whispered, rubbing at his temples.

Was he serious? He blinked, "Really? What're you on?" Better to check.

"Enough aspirin to pickle a liver, truth, justice, and the American way," he grunted back, stiffening his spine.

"And what're bloodsuckers doing in your van?" He prodded.

He frowned, "what's your name, huh?"

"Eric, yours?" He still wanted to know about the back of the van.

"Edgar. Edgar _Frog_ ," he said his name like it was a badge of honor, as if he were a celebrity or hyped-up soldier of fortune from a bad action flick.

"So, Edgar, why are there bloodsuckers in your van?" He asked again.

He blinked several times, processing the question, "I haven't slept in two days."

Eric sighed, " _Why?_ " Man, this was like pulling teeth.

"Because there's _bloodsuckers_ in my _van!"_ He looked like he was getting just as frustrated now.

"I get that, but why are they there? Fuck, man, maybe you are just nuts."

"Oh...well, I had chicken pox, so my brother and this friend of mine decided to go hunting without me. One thing led to another, and now we're all headed to Mexico with a head vampire shacked up in the back of my van...it's been a really shitty week."

He paused, taking in a slow breath, "And your friend and brother? Why're you helping some master vampire?"

Edgar Frog screwed up his face, and then slumped to the ground, putting his head in his hands and sobbing, "cause I can't kill them, man!"

"Your brother, he was turned, wasn't he?"

"...Yeah…"

"I could kill them for you." He said softly, no one deserved that.

Edgar shook his head quickly, "no, no...not that." He pulled his hands away from his face, "just gotta get them away from the head vamp...I can fix them…" He was mumbling to himself now, rubbing at his temples even more vigorously.

"Alright," he paused briefly, "Where're you headed?"

"They're gonna come get me...said something about Cabo last night...somewhere in China, I guess. Don't know how we're gonna get a plane they can ride in, maybe go by boat…" Clearly geography wasn't his subject.

Shit. He didn't want to be here when they came to get him, no way, but he didn't really have a way out of here either.

"So, Edgar, how am I going to get out of this alive?"

"I don't know." Edgar replied hopelessly, "make a break for it? Hide? Ask to make a phone call or something? A piss? I hunt vampires, I'm not MacGyver. I'm sorry, man, I can't post bail for you."

He let out a snort, "Didn't expect you to." He went over to the bars, shaking them, making them rattle, "Hey, guard, I want another cell!"

"That right?" The cop in question lowered the folded newspaper he'd been reading and leaned back in his chair as he hooked a finger through one of his belt loops, "why's that?"

"You stuck a schizo in here, he's going off about vampires and shit, things out to get him. He's looking at my neck funny."

"What?!" Edgar looked up at him incredulously, mouth fluttering like a fish.

"Well, I'd tell you to sit and stew, but it's slow tonight, and we don't have anyone else in the other cells. Heard the kid rambling too...alright, let me just get the keys," the cop replied, dropping his newspaper on his desk and standing up to unhook a ring from one of his belt loops.

"Hey, man, thanks, I promise I won't be any trouble." He backed up from the cell door so he could open it. He didn't bolt, didn't try to escape, as he was taken to another cell, "Just made me nervous."

The cop gave Edgar an odd look, "I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not crazy!" Edgar snapped, gripping the cell bars tightly and trying to give them a good shake, "there's vampires out there! Coming for all of us!"

* * *

They awoke in darkness. Darkness and blessed relief from the damned shouting of that idiot Frog brother. Much of their slumber had been troubled by the inability to swing the van doors open to throttle him. The novelty of a human servant, and even the convenience, was quickly wearing thin. Quinton could admit when he had a bad idea, this just happened to be one of them. Perhaps he should cut him loose, get rid of the human and just focus on his pack. Alan was another story. They needed to have a little chat about what had transpired, about the fact that Alan had been with Sam earlier. Before their happy reunion at the diner.

The dirt around him began to shift, as Sam, soon followed by Alan, jerked up in the bed of the van and quickly ran their fingers through their dirt-clogged hair to rouse themselves.

"Oh man," Alan groaned into his hands, "I slept like shit." He just so happened to look like it, as well.

Sam rubbed his eyes, grumbling, "You look like shit too." He scowled, "Umm, did we move?"

Alan frowned, glancing over at Quinton, "I can't smell Ed...did he ditch us?"

Quinton sighed heavily, "I suppose he must have done something idiotic. It wouldn't surprise me."

Alan scrambled forward towards the blanket that had been pinned up between the back of the van and the front, tearing it down in a rush so that they could see through the windshield. A variety of other vehicles stretched out around them in a large parking lot, with no one around to come claim them. "God damn it, Ed…"

The elder vampire raised an eyebrow, "Alan, what seems to be the problem?" He questioned, dusting his shoulders off.

He slowly turned his head to the side, bracing one hand on the back of the driver's seat, "I think we've been impounded. Van's locked up. Means Ed probably got tossed in the drunk tank."

Sam rolled his eyes, slamming his back against the back doors, clasping his hands around his knees, "figures."

A long sigh escaped his lips, "I'm tempted to leave the boy in his cell." He stated, "However, we need to be going." He stepped out of the van. They would have to get out of here if things were to continue as they had.

The other two gracelessly tumbled out after him, with Sam hurriedly stripping off his shirt to shake the excess bits of dirt out, and Alan jumping from leg to leg to jostle what had managed to worm its way into his pant legs.

"You're...not going to do anything to him, are you?" Alan asked, though he knew well enough not to meet Quinton's eyes head-on.

He raised an eyebrow, "I was thinking of letting him rot in whatever cell they threw him. Idiocy does not always warrant death, I could be persuaded to let him live."

Alan jerked his head up, "really?" His eyebrows furrowed as he absorbed the sentence fully, "...persuaded?"

"Yes, he is of no use to me and he is proving difficult, therefore he should be disposed of." He paused, "But I could be persuaded to let him live."

The younger vampire's shoulders slumped, while Sam edged around the side of the van and sniffed at the air, his attention clearly focused on something else.

Alan tucked his hands into his pockets and eased from one foot to the other, "he's my brother. He's an idiot, but I don't want him to die." His tone was resigned, almost defeated. A lot of the spark in him seemed to be fading lately.

"Tell me then, what would you have me do?"

He took in a deep breath, forcing himself to meet Quinton's gaze for less than a second, before his eyes quickly shifted to the side, "just...leave him there. Wherever he is...drunk tank, judging by where we are. He'll be there long enough for us to leave. Ed was never really very good at the tracking side of hunting, anyway, and nobody actually _believes_ in vampires...or much of anything...unless they see it for themselves. Everybody thinks he's crazy, even back in Luna Bay."

"And what will you do, Alan?" He questioned, "If I leave your brother alone?"

Alan leaned back against the side of the van, throwing his head back, and flinching at the distinctive sound of his skull smacking into the metallic surface, "I'll do anything. I'll...drive...bring back someone for you to eat if you don't feel like going anywhere...what do you want me to do…" He looked hesitant, the next word still having difficulty coming to his lips, " _sire?"_ There it was. The lingering rebellion, the dying spark...still stubbornly clinging to his tongue as he spoke. A tick. A parasite, feasting and thriving on the blood that _he_ had given Alan; the blood he should be grateful for every waking moment he wasn't just another meal or dust at the whims of an early sunrise.

"And you will behave, you will be one with this pack, remain with us." He stated calmly, "If you want your brother to live."

"Okay…" Alan nodded, "I can do that."

"Good." He scowled slightly, glancing around, "Where's Sam?"

* * *

David grumbled, dropping his latest victim off a bridge, listening to him splash into the water. He was getting tired of hunting Sam down but this was for Michael, he had to keep telling himself that. At least they were trying new cuisine. He could swear that everyone tasted different based on the area. These hicks definitely tasted better than the fare in Santa Carla. Not bad, just different. Maybe a little greasier.

Dwayne glanced over at him, tossing his hair over his shoulders. The only one of them who stubbornly kept it just as long as when he'd died, " _we're getting closer, scent is stronger,"_ he remarked in David's mind, sensing the budding irritation in their leader.

" _Good, the sooner this is over, the better."_ He grumbled, licking a bit of blood off his fingers, "Let's get out of here boys, we're getting close." He let Dwayne lead the way, following behind him, "How much further do you think?" He glanced at Michael, " _I think he's getting impatient."_ If anyone was besides David it was Michael.

" _Shouldn't be too much longer,"_ Dwayne replied thoughtfully, " _I think there's something to that story we heard at the gas station. The drunken idiot…"_

" _Then let's go find us a drunk idiot."_ When someone was ranting and raving about vampires David usually brushed it off but this time, since they were going after others of their kind he had to follow up on it. Any lead would work at this point. At least the string of murders they'd found or heard news reports about along their way was sloppy enough to give him a good idea they were going in the right direction. Better than a trail of breadcrumbs or glistening pebbles.

The police station might prove to be an issue, however. David glared up at it, he really hated dealing with cops, they always made his life difficult.

Michael was the first to speak, "are we all going in, or just one of us?" He leaned forward on his bike handles, "Marko's got a baby face, maybe it should be him?"

David chuckled softly, "Alright Marko, go for it, get the little shit out so we can talk to him. Better you than me going in there."

Grinning wickedly, Marko hopped off his bike and practically skipped towards the front door, drawing to a stop mid-step, "leave 'em squirming, or kill 'em all?" He inquired giddily.

The blonde looked thoughtful for a moment, "Let's let them live this time but don't be afraid to have some fun."

With a flourish, Marko threw the door wide open, arms spread as if he were a modern-day messiah greeting his flock. Immediately all eyes were on him. It was late and there were only two men sitting at desks in the room.

"How's tricks?" He asked the closest one, drumming sharp nails on his desk, his eyes flashing with an unreadable dark joy.

The man scowled, "Can I help you?"

"Listen, I'm in a hurry tonight, so let's just cut the shit. I hear you've got a nutcase in lock-up right now...does he smell like corn chips? Wear a dinky little headband? Grunt and yell empty threats to just about anyone?"

The man's scowl deepened, "Yes…Do you know him?"

Marko's grin expanded as he leaned over the desk, death breath tickling the man's moustache, giving a soft laugh that was both mischievous and just a little unnerving, "I'm his babysitter. Come to take him off your hands, no cost to either of ya. How's that sound?"

His scowl faded and he let out a sigh of relief, "Good, actually, really good. Won't even bother with his ticket." He got to his feet, "We want him gone but he's too unpredictable to just let run around, lucky you came."

He was a little disappointed, but Marko couldn't honestly blame them. He felt a slight twinge in his chest at the memory of the last time he'd encountered this little prick. Time to have a bit of fun. "Glad to be of service. You wanna bring him out, or should I just go in and talk him down first?"

"I'll bring him out. Just wait here." He headed into the back only to reappear a few minutes later with a very agitated Edgar in tow, "All yours."

When Edgar locked eyes with Marko, he very nearly pissed himself in fright, and couldn't even summon up the sounds to scream or beg to be locked up again, all he could do was fall to his knees, as his legs gave out on him, "...nnnnnh..."

"Well, guess I was right…" Marko snickered; Paul owed him a couple of bucks now. "C'mon, Dorothy, let's go hop down the yellow brick road, huh?" He grinned.

Edgar's eyes grew impossibly wide as he looked pleadingly up at the cop, "Please...Shit...don't let him take me."

The other officer, still sitting quietly at his desk, reached for a paper cup of coffee and pointedly ignored the whimpering mass on the ground, happy to wash his hands of the drunk. The other eyed Marko for a few thoughtful seconds, before patting Edgar on the shoulder, "get yourself clean, kid."

Marko strode forward and knelt down, whispering in Edgar's ear, "we can walk out of here together, or I can carry you...I mean, I'm the _little one_ , but I'm sure I can handle your fat ass."

Edgar backed away from the vampire, heading for the door, he pushed it open without taking his eyes off him and bolted.

Rolling his eyes, Marko stood up and gave the cops a quick salute, "be seeing you around," he remarked quietly, before casually strolling out the door to see just which of the boys had decided to make a game out of it.

The lottery winner was a very agitated Michael, holding Edgar upside-down and dangling him by his feet. "Seeing stars yet, Frog?" He demanded, giving him a good shake.

Edgar whimpered, "W-What do you want?!"

"Where's Sam?" Michael lifted Ed just a little higher. He was enjoying this; a sort of vicarious way of taking out some of his frustration with his brother.

"I don't know! They impounded the van! Maybe he got a sun bath, I dunno!"

He growled, "sun bath? So he's turned? He's turned, and you tried to _fucking tell people where he was sleeping?!_ " Michael was very close to snapping.

"He's a bloodsucker! Like Alan…" His throat worked to swallow down the pain he was feeling at losing his brother, he couldn't let these assholes see it, "It's for the best!"

Michael dropped Ed to the ground with a sigh of disgust, "David, could you turn him so we can just ditch him in the desert?" Because simply tearing Ed's throat out right now wouldn't be nearly as satisfying or ironic.

David let out a snort, "No way, he is not joining us. I'm not gonna waste my blood on him."

The human took that moment to let out a choked sob, "I'm sorry, I…" He hicced, "Please don't kill me." Snot and tears were dripping down his terrified face in a steady stream right now.

"Let's go bowling," Paul blurted out. "I wanna go bowling." All eyes were drawn towards him. "...What? I saw an alley a couple of miles back...I'm bored."

"Bowling!" Edgar agreed hurriedly, his breath hitching several times, "don't kill me...go bowling!"

Michael put his face in his hands, biting back an agitated retort. They'd all been happy...or at least willing to help him go on this wild fucking goose chase after his idiot brother, who'd apparently never heard the god damned phrase 'once bitten, twice shy'. If he was already technically dead, another night or two wouldn't kill him again, "...are you fucking kidding, Paul?"

"...I could go for some bowling…" Marko strolled up to them, nudging Ed's side with his foot, "give Eddie here one last bit of fun before it's lights out?"

Edgar squeaked.

"Bowling it is, then we'll continue hunting for little Sammy, deal?" David looked at Michael, waiting for a response.

"Yeah," Michael nodded, "bowling sounds fun." He wasn't enthusiastic about it, but he wasn't going to be a dick either. Plus, scaring the fuck out of the Frog brother for a few more hours did have its appeal.

David clapped, rubbing his hands together, "It's settled, bowling it is!"

Dwayne looked down at Edgar, "who gets the bitch?"


	4. Bowling

Sam hummed softly, licking the blood off his fingers as he stood over a sobbing girl. Two other bodies lay spread on the ground around him, their throats ripped out. He held up a finger to his lips as he looked at her, "Shhh, don't scream, it'll give me a headache, you don't want that, do you?"

She gasped for breath, pressing her hand to her chest as she shook her head quickly. Her heart was thrumming like a hummingbird's. Any second now it just might pop. His smile grew as he crouched down in front of her, reaching out to stroke her hair out of her face.

"Did they hurt you?"

The girl reached for a loosened strap of fabric that had once been her sleeve, tugging it up over her shoulder and recoiling from his touch, then nodded slowly in reply, her breath a series of high-pitched whimpers.

"Shhh, I can make it better, get you help." He stroked her cheek softly, "Let me help you."

There was a glimmer of hope in her eyes, perhaps a budding trust in the monster in front of her, given that _she_ was still alive, and the men who'd cornered her outside were...well...not. "Wh...what do you want?" She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He offered her his hand, "Take it."

Hesitantly, she reached out, wrapping her fingers around his, and meeting Sam's eyes with a nervous smile. Maybe she was wrong...maybe he wasn't the kind of monster who hurt good people…misunderstood. A societal outcast. A tragic, modern-day beast. A-All thought was driven from her head as he drove his teeth into her throat, groaning into her skin as the blood bubbled up. This was the life! Why hadn't Michael wanted this? Why hadn't _he_ wanted this? He should have given in sooner.

"Sam?" A familiar voice called out. Alan. Probably there to fuck him over and try to take the rest of his meal.

He growled softly, clutching her closer until finally he released her, letting her drop to the ground.

Alan appeared around the corner, drawing to an immediate halt when his eyes landed on the scene in front of him, "dude...right under a fucking streetlamp? Are you kidding me?" He drew closer, kneeling down to examine the remains of the girl, "I think I saw a dumpster about a block over…" He looked over his shoulder, scowling, "you better hope nobody saw you."

Sam shook his head, "Dude, I was fine. No one was around, it's a fucking alley, you're so uptight." He crossed his arms over his chest, "You're no fun, Alan."

"...how hard is it to at least wait until they're not standing right under a streetlight in the middle of the damn sidewalk?" Alan demanded, exasperated, pulling the girl up and throwing her over one of his shoulders, "maybe I don't want to get my ass staked tonight. Ever think of that, Sam?"

He rolled his eyes, "Asshole." He grumbled, "I would have taken care of it."

On the peripheral of Alan's vision, he caught sight of someone hurriedly ducking into his car across the street. He cursed, throwing the body back to the ground, "no one around, huh?" He jerked his thumb towards the car, just as the engine roared into life.

Alan needn't have worried, before the car could get anywhere, Quinton grabbed the man and pulled him out of the window, "Now, now, why'd you have to go and do that, hmm?"

"Look, man, I don't know what kinda shit you guys are into, but I promise I'm not gonna tell anyone!" He exclaimed, voice quavering.

He chuckled softly, dragging the man over to where Sam and Alan were standing, "I'm afraid that you're responsible for this. Do you realize what you've done? You killed those men and that young woman."

"Wh...what?!" The man replied, shaking his head, "you fucking psychos, I didn't…" He began to stutter, meeting Quinton's gaze, "...I did?" His voice suddenly shifted, growing calm and flat. Alan nudged Sam's shoulder, watching Quinton's trick.

"Yes, you did, don't you remember? You saw that girl being attacked and came to her rescue but alas, she wasn't receptive to your advances so you killed her."

Sam watched in intent silence. His master was talented, always looking out for them.

"Whatever are you going to do about it? Hmm? Perhaps you should turn yourself in?" His voice was soft, hypnotic, as he wove his web of lies.

"Yeah. I should do that…" He went on, "bitch...had it coming…" he added, as if he were rehearsing his speech for the police.

"There's a good man, you were alone out here, right? Didn't see another soul." He urged, time to finish up.

"No. I did not see another soul," he agreed, "just me. Just me…"

"Good boy. Now, the last thing is for you to look the part. Get some blood on your hands and then go turn yourself in."

He obeyed, dropping to his knees and smacking his hands against the girl's bloodied shirt, as if he were a toddler preparing a fingerpaint masterpiece. He also got in a good grope in the process, now convinced he was a murderous pervert, thanks to Quinton's influence.

"Now then, Alan, Sam, it's time for us to go." He said, turning his attention to the boys. He gave Sam a smile, pleased with his progress. Yes, Sam was coming along quite well. Three kills all on his own.

Alan bit his tongue, glancing down at the man still washing his hands in blood and gore, and then back up at Quinton. His sense of self-preservation, and the agreement they'd made earlier was enough to keep him silent. Even if he did think a few more incidents like that would get them all killed.

Quinton walked away, expecting them to follow. They had some hunters to play with and a border to cross. So much to do, and all the time in the world, but better sooner than later.

* * *

Eric moved into the impound lot quietly. There was no one on duty at the gate, leaving him to believe something had happened and he was on the right track. The old van with dirt falling out the back was his second clue, the body of the attendant solidified the deal. Carefully he knelt down beside the body, checking his throat and spotting what was obviously a sleeper bite. All those teeth tended to leave a distinctive mark.

"Shit." He cursed softly, getting back to his feet. He had to report back, there was enough dirt in that van for two or three sleepers. So the kid wasn't full of shit.

* * *

Dwayne drummed his hand on his knee to the tune of ACDC's 'Hard as a Rock' on the bowling alley jukebox, throwing his head back as he waited for Paul to hurry up and take his damn turn. Asshole was still debating about which ball to use, and fucking Edgar couldn't even keep his mouth shut about the scores, as if not forty minutes ago they hadn't been threatening his life. That guy was on a whole new level of crazy.

They'd closed the place for renovations. The staff had easily agreed before David decided to take over as the new management. So there wouldn't be anyone else to bug them or hang around and remind Marko standing halfway across the fucking row was a foot fault.

"Throw the fucking thing!" Dwayne demanded, lowering his head.

Paul glared at him, giving him the finger, "The last one had the wrong spin on it, can't bowl like that!"

"You're leading with the wrong shoulder," Edgar chimed in, then shrank back in his seat when he was the target of Paul's next venomous look, and it had none of the camaraderie or underlying connection it would have with the others. He was given the distinct impression of impending neutering if he added anything else to the conversation.

"You're flinging your arm out," Michael added, perched at the table beside David and Marko where they were sharing a pitcher of cheap, icy beer.

"Pull up the railing," Dwayne growled.

David chuckled, "Too much work." He looked at Paul, "Bowl or forfeit."

Paul drew up to his full height, "alright ladies...watch the master…"

Ten minutes later, after they'd switched to another lane that _hadn't_ born the brunt of Paul's rage and poor bowling, Michael nudged David's shoulder, "eight gutters...that a record?"

"I think so, I'm thinking Paul should just give up now and leave the rest of the bowling to the adults that don't need bumpers." David stated, hopping off the table and picking up his ball. He strode forward, swinging the ball back then forward and releasing, watching it crash into the head pin. The only problem was it left him with a 7 10 split. He growled softly, there was no way he could make that.

"Give up," Marko cupped his hands over his mouth, "you're done, David. Just gutter it already!" He moved his foot to the side and glared down at one of the bleeding corpses near his feet, giving it a good kick, "now my boots are sticky...fucking great…"

"Shut up, Marko, at least I'm gonna fucking try." He growled, eyeing the 7 pin, if he at least got one of them he'd still be on top but damn if he didn't want to make that split.

"I don't think he can make it," Paul decided, popping a piece of gum in his mouth and grinning. Dwayne remained silent beside him, not the one to poke a sleeping bear.

"You never know," Michael shrugged, "bet it's pretty cold in Hell right now."

David growled softly, "Shut up, gotta focus." He grumbled, taking a deep, unneeded breath, before starting his approach. He released and closed his eyes, he couldn't watch. The crash of pins made him cringe but it was Paul who got his attention.

"Fuck man, shit, glad I didn't take that bet."

David's eyes snapped open, he'd done it, he made the impossible split. He turned around strolling back as if nothing had happened, a smug smile on his face, "That's how it's done, boys."

"Good job," Marko whistled, "you're up, Dwayne."

Michael leaned over to top up David's cup once he'd settled down and taken his seat again, "this wasn't a bad idea...I mean, the place smells like feet...but I guess that's the running theme bowling alleys."

"Got a good meal out of it, don't have to listen to them bitch about how we're not wearing their fancy shoes, not only that but beer." He raised his glass, taking a deep drink, looking Michael in the eye as he licked his lips.

Michael shifted in his seat, eyeing David's mouth, "am...when we find Sam...am I going to want to kill him?" He hated to think about it, but judging by how they'd both acted when they were just half and Sam had that asshole's blood in his veins, it had been more than a little difficult to fight the urge to hurt him, brother or not. He didn't doubt the urge would be multiplied now.

"Probably but they won't be in our territory so it'll be easier to control yourself." David stated, "Want me to make sure you don't off him?"

He nodded, tearing his gaze away from David's lips and examining the contents of his cup instead, "yeah. Probably wouldn't go over too well with mom if I had to break it to her that I snapped my little brother's neck, whether he has it coming or not."

He chuckled softly, "Alright, if it looks like you're gonna off him I'll stop you."

"I've gotta take a dump," Edgar blurted out just as Marko took his turn and practically shattered half of the pins in the process.

"Fuck, kid, now we gotta watch you take a shit? Fucking human bodily functions." Paul groused.

David smirked, "Thanks for volunteering, Paul! Hop to it."

Edgar paled considerably, "I don't need help wiping," he mumbled, standing up from his seat.

Dwayne, stoic and silent as he tended to be, was almost red in the face trying to hold back his laughter, just gauging the look of sheer disgust and rage blossoming in Paul's expression.

"Gotta make sure he doesn't run off." David said, meeting Paul's glare, "Because he will try to run off."

Ed was somehow smart enough not to keep talking as he slipped away from the group, Paul on his tail.

"I think I don't want to kill him," Michael remarked, digging a crushed pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. "Well, I _do,_ but he's pretty much the only one left who can look after mom during the day...besides gramps…"

"Alright, let him live as long as he takes care of Lucy, she's gonna need it soon."

"Works for me," he grabbed a cigarette to tuck between his lips, then held out the packet and offered one to David.

David plucked one out of the pack, pulling out his lighter and flicking it, starting the flame and holding it out for Michael to light his, "Thanks."

* * *

Edgar slipped into the bathroom, making a move to try and remove the key from the outside door before Paul could follow him. Paul put his hand on the door, shoving it open before he could get a chance to.

"Come on, get to it, don't have all night." The vampire grumbled.

Sighing, he quickly ducked inside a stall and flipped the lock, tugging his pants down to his knees just to keep himself from looking suspicious while he dug through his coat pockets for something. Anything that could help him get out of this. A paper clip. A lighter. A small jar of pickled garlic...a fishing lure...no, this wasn't going to work at all. He let out an angry cry of frustration.

"Hey, get stuck or somethin'?" Paul's voice carried over his cursing.

"I...I think this is going to be a long haul," he grunted out, eyes darting around nervously, turning his head behind him to check if he was lucky enough to have picked a toilet under an air vent. No such luck. "Jesus fucking Christ!" James Bond made this shit look so easy.

"Shit, man, what'd you eat to get stuck?" He was a vampire, it had been a long time since he got stopped up.

"Uh…" He shuffled back in the stall, unscrewing the lid of the pickled garlic and tossing one into the bowl, "frito pie and...uh...baked...cheetos," he replied, kneeling down to pull his pants up just a little, and gauge whether or not the vampire was actually looking under it.

"You need to stop eating that shit, makes you smell gross too."

"Wh...what?" Edgar exclaimed, buttoning up his pants, "I don't smell!" He paused, "...they're outta toilet paper. I need it... _bad…"_ The perfect excuse...there was no way the vampire was inhuman enough to deny him his god-given right to sanitary bathroom practices.

"Ya know what? Guess what I know, Eddie."

"Yeah?"

Suddenly the vampire's face appeared over the stall wall, "You're not taking a shit." He cackled, grinning down at him.

"Well...yeah...not anymore...I don't have any toilet paper!" He protested.

Paul rolled his eyes, "I'm not stupid, you think I'd fall for that? Hurry up, I'm not gonna let you escape and I see toilet paper right there."

There was only one thing for it...with all of his might, Edgar unlocked the door and yanked it open, trying to slip through and escape before the vampire could stop him. Paul sighed, grabbing him by the back of the shirt, "You're a fucking idiot." He said, pulling him back to the main room, "You were right! Tried to escape!"

Marko rolled his eyes, just as the computer was updating Paul's score of '0' for the latest turn. "I'm shocked. Really."

Edgar whimpered, locking his knees and trying to keep Paul from dragging him back to his seat, which was fairly ineffective. He only ended up stumbling and hurting his ankle for all of his effort.

David shook his head, "You really are an idiot, you know that?" He looked at Michael, "You're up."

Michael hopped up, ruffling Ed's hair as he passed him, yanking on it enough to make him flinch, before he quietly took his turn, with none of the flair or dramatic pause Paul and David were so fond of.

Dwayne crossed his arms, "where we sleeping tonight?"

"Could sleep here, no one's gonna come in." Marko shrugged, "Good a place as any."

"We've got that sign slapped up outside, nobody should bother us…" Paul glanced towards the doors, and then back at Ed. The security wasn't ideal, but it was as good as any. They weren't likely to have anyone barging in on them in the utility room, or the crawlspace behind the lanes...certainly not anyone with a stake.

"I bet we can even find some rope to tie up our guest."

"I won't run! I swear, I'm not gonna-" Edgar's voice died. Yeah, they weren't buying it. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked silently down at his feet.

Paul snorted, "I'm gonna go find something to tie him nice and tight with since you won't let me bowl anymore."

"Game's over, dumbass," Marko snorted.

"Oh, look at that...I won," Dwayne eyed the score-chart, "I guess I'm just a natural."

* * *

"There's several dozen other places you could sleep, Paul," Dwayne grumbled, kicking him in the side, "back off." It was a small room...but there was a lock. A shitload safer than the crawl space...plus, they'd stored the bodies in the bathroom. The same one Paul had left Edgar in for the day.

Paul grumbled, kicking back, "Stop kicking me!"

Marko rolled over, flinging an arm over Paul's face and yawning. Not the best way to sleep, but better than digging a hole somewhere. David growled at all of them, "Stop moving and sleep!" He ordered.

"A little space?" Michael mumbled, scooting a little further away from David, nearly bumping his face against a metal shelving unit stacked high with half-empty paint buckets.

David growled softly, reaching out and grabbing Michael by the leg, pulling him closer, "Hold still."

He made a half-hearted attempt to move away again, but relented and relaxed, letting out a deep sigh. Too tired to argue right now, and more comfortable than he'd like to admit.

* * *

The last tour of the day was done, the sun was down, and the main building had been locked up in preparation for that evening's gathering. Vanessa hastily lowered the final window-shade, a manilla folder clutched to her chest, "I think we've got a major problem headed our way, guys," she sighed. They'd all been keeping their ears glued to the local news, skimming newspapers from the surrounding towns and cities...it was fairly clear to everyone that something big was headed their way. The kind of disaster their group hadn't encountered in over fifty years.

She brushed a mass of wispy brown hair away from her face and marched towards the 'bank' counter, placing the folder down to open it and filter through several black-and-white photographs. Several women and men, all in various states of dress, bloodied, puncture marks decorating anything from their necks to their thighs, some wounds shredded beyond recognition, "I've got a few things from Ralph, pictures he managed to get his hands on…" she held the photos out towards the leader of the group, "speaks for itself, I think."

Kenton slowly took them, looking down to see what she had found. This wasn't good, not good at all, and it wasn't getting any better either.

She reached over to tap one of the photographs, "judging by how many tracks this one had, the range of the bites, I think we could be dealing with a sleeper."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, "Fuck, you know how much of a pain in the ass the old ones are. The last one we took out killed two of us before we got him." Sleepers. They would go into hibernation every now and then only to arise stronger and more fearsome than they had been when they went to sleep. He sifted through the pictures, "More than one too, means he already started making a new pack."

Keith, a fairly small man with thinning hair, sat beside the entrance polishing his glasses, "are we seeing a pattern yet? A direction? How many do you think we're dealing with?" He directed his attention towards Ralph. Or, more accurately, a spot just to the left of Ralph's shoulder.

"Not really sure," Ralph sighed, "we'll probably have a better idea if Eric shows up. Heard he got thrown in the tank again."

"Go figure, he always gets thrown in the tank." Kenton sighed again, it felt like he was doing a lot of that lately, "

Keith stood up, stepping away from the door, "count it. Dramatic entrance in 5, 4, 3…" He shoved his glasses back onto his face.

Eric pushed through the doors. Usually he was all for dramatic entrances, he'd come in with his arms spread wide but not this time, no, he looked...nervous, "Fuck, guys." All eyes were on him, expecting that next shoe to drop, "We're fucked unless we do something first. There's three of 'em, sleepers."

"Three's not too bad," Vanessa said doubtfully. One was bad. Three...especially if they were young...there was a pretty good chance they'd have to do some recruiting if things got nasty, which they probably would.

"One of 'em's old, like really old, the other two shouldn't be that big of a problem." Eric plopped down in a chair, rubbing his temples, "Fuck, maybe they'd take a deal?" He shook his head, "Screw that shit, no way but fuck, this is stupid."

"We couldn't afford it," Ralph grumbled. "It'd just make the problem bigger next year. You know damned well the kinds of deals sleepers like to make."

"I know, I know. But what're we gonna do?"

"Sir?" Keith directed his attention to Kenton, "what do you think we should do?"

Kenton closed his eyes, "We fight, trap them, whatever it takes, and if we have to, we use one of them as a bargaining chip." He paused, "And if we absolutely have to, we run."

Ralph pulled out a matchbook and struck one of the sticks inside to light, "they're not here yet. Good chance they'll show up tomorrow, if we're targets." He looked towards the back wall behind the teller counter, eyes fixed on an old portrait of a tall man in a stuffy suit with glasses perched on the edge of his nose, "good thing they're not flyers. Don't know if we could take them on with only five of us...now _those_ things are nasty."

"Get some rest, if we are targets, we need to be prepared."

"Probably be a good idea to shut down the town a little early tomorrow," Keith agreed, squinting at the spot on his lenses he'd somehow missed, "make sure there aren't any stragglers after dark."


	5. Holy Water Stings

Alan finally finished taping portions of the motel room curtain against the wall, "I thought we were going to Mexico…"

"We will, but first there are hunters that I would like to play with." Quinton stated, relaxing in one of the beds.

"Hunters?" Sam frowned, perched on the edge of the other as he traded out a set of bloodied shoelaces for a pair he'd taken from his last meal. He was quickly beginning to accumulate souvenirs from each one.

"Indeed, there is a group of hunters not far from here, I thought it would be a good learning experience for you."

Alan and Sam warily glanced at each other and then back at Quinton. If their whole experience with the master vampire had taught them anything, it was that hunting definitely wasn't a skill they'd particularly honed...would they be able to actually take on people who did it for a living?

"...do you want us to eat them?" Alan tossed the tape roll aside and leaned against the wall.

"If you would like, however that is not the primary goal."

Sam chewed on the inside of one of his cheeks, watching his sire pensively. For just a moment, a flicker of his old self reminded him exactly how nasty their fight with David and the others had been...and he wasn't too sure he liked the potential of being fried, melted, or skewered. Still, he was confident his master knew best, so he kept his doubts to himself.

"Something on your mind, Samuel?" He questioned, looking at him in concern, "Please, feel free to share your thoughts."

He picked at his nails idly, scraping at bits of red caked in the cuticles, "dying looks pretty fucking painful...I don't want to die…"

"I'll make sure that you don't die, it would be a great loss to the world if you did." He chuckled softly, "The two of you are indispensible." He paused, "Be sure you remain as such and death will never touch you."

Alan stifled a yawn, "there's only two beds in here," he complained. Not really wanting to linger on the topic of their own demises longer than they absolutely had to. He and Ed had drawn enough crude depictions of dismembered vampires and creative drafts on dealing with them throughout their childhood to last him a lifetime. He'd never really thought he could be on the receiving end of any of those 'plans of action'...it was strange being on the other side.

"Get some rest, boys, we'll reconvene in the morning."

Sam kicked off his shoes and starfished himself on his bed, ensuring that there'd be no space left for Alan...who was more than happy to give him a good shove off of the mattress and do the same. He dug his claws into the fabric lining to hold his place.

"Now, boys, behave, you need your rest." Quinton said absently as he settled into bed.

Alan shrugged, "we're done...have fun on the ground, Sam."

Sam snarled but it was Quinton who spoke, "Alan, let him up." His tone brokered no room for argument.

He relented, but still insisted on having a little more than half of the bed to himself, and both of the pillows. He'd had to spend the last day with Sam's feet in his face under all the dirt in the van...he'd earned these pillows.

* * *

"You're letting me go? You're not gonna eat me? Or…" Ed gulped nervously, "t-turn me?!" They were standing at the bus station, a fistful of crumpled dollar bills jammed into Ed's grimy palm. He hadn't had the chance to bathe in a few days now, and being tied to a toilet all day hadn't helped matters. If he were entirely sane in the first place, or normal, it might have driven him crazy.

David crossed his arms over his chest, "Kid, I'm not going to waste my blood on you. Not gonna turn you and I think you'd taste like shit, so there's that too. No, here's what's going to happen. You're going to quit hunting, you're going to take care of Lucy, that's what you're gonna do. You know why you're gonna do it?" He asked.

"B…" He stammered, "because I'm a worthy adversary?"

"No, because someone has to take care of her and since Sam and Mike are a little...changed, it can't be them. You're gonna take over her care because you can at least be of use that way."

"I live in Luna Bay, I can't just drive to her house ever-" he cut himself off, at a look from David. "...I'll move closer…"

He patted him on the head, "Good boy. You can always rent out Sam's old room or Michael's."

Once he was sent on his way, with only moderate emotional and mental trauma from his combined experiences with the boys and his own brother, they were only too happy to see him gone. Especially Dwayne, who'd been designated to keep an eye on him after Paul had declined to do it two nights in a row.

"So...impound lot?" Michael suggested, as David rejoined them. They were casually leaning against the wall at the station, occasionally giving creepy glances to passersby, with more than one catcall from Marko to keep things interesting. The geriatric women he'd made passes at were more than a little put off.

"Yeah, see if we can't find their van, should give us a clue to where they went."

Michael crossed his arms and sighed. Now that they were getting closer to finding Sam, who'd basically become the very definition of a wayward brother in a worst case scenario, he wasn't even sure what he'd say to him. Or do. For one thing, there was the fact that he'd probably be inclined to do some serious damage if David wasn't there to hold him back, and for another...hell, even when he was a halfie...Sam clearly had major issues with self-control. He'd be even worse now.

"This is turning into a real pain in the ass," he grumbled. As if it already hadn't been one to begin with.

"We could always turn back!" Marko grinned at him.

David shook his head, "Nah, we've been at this for a few days, we're gonna finish it."

Paul leaned over and nudged David's shoulders, catching sight of what could only be described as the mousiest chick on the planet, "get a load of that. Bet she's pretty stringy…"

Dwayne snorted, " _you drink her blood, Paul, you don't fucking bake or fry her."_

Resorting to their thoughts, which drew considerably less attention, given the topic, Paul glared over at Dwayne, " _it's still a texture thing, dick-head._ "

" _Really, Paul?"_ David rolled his eyes, " _Come on, let's get this done."_

Just as they were headed for the bikes, they didn't catch sight of the odd look the girl gave them, snapping her compact mirror shut.

* * *

Vanessa's heels clicked smartly against the pavement as she explored the perimeters of the bus station, compact mirror pressed close to her face while she occasionally acted as if she were dabbing a fresh puff of powder on her chin. Ralph was ready at the payphone inside, keeping an eye on her through the windows for a signal. They'd all stationed themselves at the highest traffic points in the perimeter of the latest kills. It was the best way to dig out their targets without being found out first.

Her eyes landed on a group of punks whistling and grinning at anyone who crossed their paths. She dabbed on another bit of powder and glanced over at Ralph through the window. If she remained at that point not too far from the men, she'd have the best chance of going unnoticed by crowds while she checked for reflections. Thus decided, she swept towards them, and popped open her clutch to give Ralph the signal to keep an eye out. She had pepper spray. She was safe if they tried to approach her.

Just as she was about to angle her mirror at a man wearing a suit two decades out of style, the punks beside her moved through her line of vision. Holding back an audible gasp, she snapped her mirror closed and waved her clutch as if she were about to swat a fly. The signal. Ralph would make a call to Kenton any second now...and all they had to do was discreetly follow...

* * *

Eric grumbled, he didn't like it here, didn't want to be back in the impound lot, but here he was, keeping watch to see if the damn sleepers were coming back. Sometimes he hated being a hunter, at least their crew was good. He had dealt with some crazy hunters before and felt as though he was lucky to get in with the group he did.

The poor sap left behind from their feeding was still tucked under an old hatchback. Somehow nobody found him. Making a report would draw too much attention to their group.

So here he was, and no one around but Eric to give him his last rites. Maybe snap a few photos for their files too. With a heavy sigh he pulled out the polaroid camera, snapping a picture of his neck before grabbing the picture and shaking it to get it to develop. This invention was awesome, best thing ever, instant pictures. Instant ...was that a shadow?

Several echoing laughs interrupted his line of thought before he could even react, "Fuck!" He spun, putting his back against the hatchback, and drawing a blade and going on the defensive, he hunkered down, waiting for them to attack.

"Christ, Sam is going to get himself killed leaving his leftovers all over the place like this," one of them sighed, crouched on the roof of the hatchback while he eyed Eric and the arm of the dead man poking out from beneath.

Eric was quick to dodge out of the way, moving off to the side so he could keep the guy on the roof of the car. A bleach blonde strolled out of the shadows, eyeing him, "Told you your brother was an idiot." He stated, ignoring the hunter in favor of moving to the corpse.

"Didn't even finish it," a taller one with dark hair remarked, cutting Eric off from his only clear running shot.

"He's...okay, yeah, he's acting like an idiot," the one on top of the car relented, while a shorter one with short blond curls hopped up beside him and blew a kiss at Eric.

Eric scowled, these weren't sleepers, he could tell that much just by looking at them. No, they were fliers and he was fucked. The bleach blonde turned and looked at him, "So, what should we do with you, little hunter?" He grinned, "What do you think, boys?"

"Make him sing," a voice directly behind Eric cackled, slapping a hand on his shoulder. Holy fuck, how many of them were there?!

Eric froze, keeping perfectly still, "How about we let the little human go and just kind of go our separate ways, how does that sound?" He tried to stay calm but his heart was beating too fast.

"You seen a blonde guy around here? Tacky shirts, black eyes, high-pitched voice, dorky comic fetish?" The one perched on the hatchback beside the blond asked, leaning his chin on his fist.

"No, saw a frito-fied idiot though, does that count?" He asked with a small smirk, "Was talkin' about three guys, vamps, that he was carting around."

"We already took care of him," he sighed in response and glanced at the bleach blond, "didn't we, David?"

, David chuckled, "Oh yes, already done with him. So what are we going to do with you?" He tapped a finger to his lips, "For starters, why don't you tell me what you talked about? Maybe if you manage to entertain us I won't have to do something interesting."

He held his hands up, "Whoa, hey there, I think he said something about Mexico. So I'd look that way." He paused briefly, "That work? I really would like to stay alive, keep all my blood in me, ya know?"

David shook his head, "I dunno, I'm feeling a little hungry and you _are_ kind of right here, handy, probably taste pretty good." He looked thoughtful.

"There are five of you and one of me, not really much to go around, wouldn't it be better for no one to get the meal than just one of you. I'm kind of skinny."

"Be worth it if we got some sport out of it," the blond at his back laughed, "burn some calories…we never have good chases anymore."

Eric slid away from them, putting a little distance between them while fishing out a small bottle from his pocket. When the bleach blonde came closer he whipped it out, splashing him with the little vial of holy water before taking off. David let out a howl, and three of the others immediately gave chase while the brunette on the top of the car leapt to the ground and dashed towards the bleach blond.

* * *

Michael snarled, inspecting the shrinking pockmarks on David's face and meeting his eyes, "you alright?" His voice came out rough, gravelly. He was almost taken aback at the sudden protectiveness coming over him, given what an asshole David could be.

David hissed softly, eyes clenched shut, "Fuck, that hurts."

"Don't move," Michael examined his cheek, growling softly as he licked at the worst of the wounds to help speed the healing. He faintly tasted the copper of his own blood on his tongue, as the lingering effects of the holy water stung it.

He let out a soft hiss, half closing his eyes, relaxing against his fingers, enjoying the bit of pampering, the care, from Michael, "How bad is it?"

"I can show you a mirror," Michael snarked, pulling back to continue inspecting the damage. The worst of it gone, there were only faint hints of pink across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. "You'll live...well...you'll be okay." He paused, "what _is_ this?"

"What is what?" He asked, cracking open one eye.

Michael snorted, shaking his head as he finally released his hold on David, " _this._ The thing at the hotel...all of it...is that just what you do to all of us? Some freaky hillbilly beach vampire bonding ritual?"

David scowled, "We bond but just going a little deeper with us."

He closed his eyes, "why? Because I drank your blood and they had Max's?" Why was he always so vague? It was infuriating. Even if he almost had some kind of feeling to go on, Michael wanted to know exactly what it fucking was.

"Tell me what you're feeling and maybe I can help you sort it out for you."

It sounded like there was some kind of scuffle in the distance, but they ignored it. The rest of the boys were old enough to take care of themselves. This had to be dealt with _now._

"I don't know. I don't want you dead, and I guess i'm not...I don't mind that we...well, it was good. I'm comfortable around you. Maybe more, now. I don't really _like_ the fact that you apparently fuck _everyone,_ but that's...you're a dude," he shrugged.

"Who says I fuck everyone?" He questioned, "And I don't think it's a bad thing that you're comfortable around me, I want you comfortable around me, to be with me."

Michael gave a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair, "you just said you all bond. Don't tell me that stops at cuddling, asshole."

He chuckled softly, "Okay, so maybe I want to bond with you a little more than the others."

Fishing his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, he offered one to David, "alright. So i'm teacher's pet right now, basically. When does that wear off?"

His smile seemed to grow, "Teacher's pet? Nah, pack leader's mate? That's closer to it, not gonna wear off, ever."

Michael nearly choked on his cigarette before he could even light it, so he tore it from his mouth and blinked back at David in confusion, " _mate_?"

"Yeah, mate, partner, companion, those better words?"

He examined David's face. It wasn't a joke. He was serious.

"...well then...fuck me, didn't see that coming," he replied, shaking his head.

"We'll get to that sooner rather than later." He said offhandedly.


	6. A Good Staking

Keith checked his beeper, frowning as he let it fall back on his belt loop. Judging by the numbers Kenton had just sent him, they were all meeting up somewhere to bag some bloodsuckers. That meant he'd be expected to draft up their cause of deaths if anything went wrong...which it always did. You couldn't expect to live like them and not lose several pints of blood and a beating heart sooner or later. Lucky for him, he was just the office guy. The one who, at the end of the day, was always left to pick up the pieces and find newbies to join up.

Problem was, these days, they were getting harder to find. Nobody believed in monsters anymore...not the kind hiding under your bed or waiting behind every other missing persons case.

He sighed, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee and settling behind the teller's desk at their I presuming headquarters. A bank. A fake bank at an educational tourist re-enactment of an old ghost town. Nobody could get in at night, though, so it was as good a place as any. Plus, their leader ran the place, too. Pretty much a perfect cover.

"Just hurry up and stake the sons of bitches," he grumbled, yanking off his glasses to polish them. That's when the front entrance doors were torn from their hinges.

A blonde teen stood in the now open doorway, a grin on his face, "Honey! I'm home!"

Keith jerked up, shoving his glasses on his nose and reaching below the desk, "we're closed. Guided tours start tomorrow afternoon at 12, sir…"

Sam pouted, "Sorry, not here for a tour, I'm feeling a little hungry, think you can help?"

Another one appeared in the ruined doorway behind him, "you never stop eating, do you?"

Keith wrapped his hand around a large handheld uv lamp beneath the desk, "there's a burger stop down the street."

The kid shook his head, "Nah, I'm in the mood for something red." He dived forward, reaching for Keith, eyes black and teeth jagged.

The hunter shouted just as he raised the lamp to give him a nice face-full of ultraviolet light, the other one nearby getting a pretty healthy dose too as he jumped forward to pull the blond out of the way with a stream of curses flying.

Keith grinned as he hefted up the lamp, once the pair managed to dodge behind a small booth, nice and toasted. Sam whimpered softly, whining low in his throat as he hid behind the counter, "Fuck!"

Alan patted a flame out on his shoulder, hissing, "this is going well." He inspected Sam's face, "you look like a Mars beast right now…"

"You look about the same." He gave him a small smile.

"What're we gonna do?" Alan couldn't help but laugh at the situation, even if his face felt like it almost melted off just then.

"Come and get it!" The human shouted, pushing away from his desk and stalking towards their booth.

Sam looked over at him, "What're we gonna do?"

"Shit, I just asked you...I don't know!" He paused, "sneak out?"

The blonde took the moment to peek over the counter, yelping when the light headed his way again, he ducked back under cover, "He's between us and the door!"

"Fuuuuuck!" Alan whispered, grabbing a heavy duty chair beside them, "maybe we can use this as a shield...or a battering ram...just gotta knock that thing out of his hand, right?"

Suddenly there was silence. Sam scowled, "I don't wanna look."

Alan's eyes widened, flakes of deadened skin beginning to peel over newly-healing pink layers, "maybe he's about to turn on a whole set of those fucking things…"

Sam whined, "Go look! I looked last time!" He prodded.

"You-" Alan sputtered, "...fine. But you watch my ass or so help me, i'll come back and possess you like a little bitch," he growled, nervously edging towards the edge of the booth to peek around the corner.

Quinton was standing over the fallen body of Keith, his throat torn out, blood drained by their master, "How are you feeling, boys?"

Alan let out a sigh of relief, "extra crispy." It'd probably take hours to regrow their eyebrows.

"You need to be more careful, try not to rush into things. You'll just get yourselves hurt." He paused, "Come, let's move on."

Sam stood up, sheepishly dusting off his blackened shirt, "what about the rest of em? There's more, right?"

"Yes, there are more, we just have to get them to come out and play." He stated, moving for the door, "They're in other buildings."

"So they're around here?" Alan frowned, "I didn't smell anyone else on the way in…" he could swear he smelled his own flesh cooking, though. Well-done and then some.

"They hide their scent using old tricks, they are here, however." He stated, heading for the exit. Sam was quick on his heels, following him outside.

Just as they reached the door, Alan paused to glance down at the body left behind, and his eyes trailed up to the large photograph behind the counter, "uh...you know these guys or something?" He jogged to catch up, stepping over fragments of the old door.

Quinton glanced back at the picture, well, wasn't this a surprise? He chuckled softly, "Hmm, I don't know them in particular, however I did help found their group. What a pleasant coincidence."

There was definitely a story here, and Alan was going to weasel it out sooner or later. The fact that Quinton wasn't immediately volunteering any extra details, though, was a good sign he didn't plan on saying much more about it in the moment.

The night air on the younger vampires' burnt skin stung, biting particularly hard at the fresher bits of flesh that had fully replenished themselves. It would take a couple of meals before either of them was presentable enough to go unnoticed in public. Less than two seconds in front of that lamp had nearly killed them. Alan hated to think what would have happened if they hadn't been able to get away from it in time. Him and Ed had _nothing_ on the stuff these guys were probably packing, if that was anything to judge by.

In a not too distant building: a 'saloon'...a phone began to ring.

Alan was quick enough to tackle Sam to the ground before he could do something stupid.

* * *

Kenton hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands. There were flyers now too? Things just couldn't get any worse. Any minute now, Keith would rush in with a list of complaints, too. Demands for more exposure. For more help and he wouldn't be able to give it to him. Speaking of, where was Keith? He got to his feet, weapon in hand, and made his way to the door. His beeper was alerting him, but it could wait until later. He'd already gotten the phone call, so there wouldn't likely be much else to report.

In the darkness, he could make out one very clear thing. The light from the bank was too bright...shining out through a large hole where two doors used to be. Shit. He darted forward, sprinting to the other building.

Keith was lying in the middle of the floor in a spreading puddle of his own blood, throat torn so badly, it was a wonder he had anything left of a neck to speak of. Glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, while his UV lamp sat beside him, just as broken as the former hunter turned midnight snack.

He knelt down beside him, he would have to do something, make sure he didn't rise, because there was always a chance that the bitten would get back up. This wasn't a normal attack, either. It was a clear message.

He made the sign of the cross over his friend, "Father, may you guard his soul in Heaven." He whispered, laying a hand on his forehead. Keith had been with him almost from day one, when he'd joined up and helped shift their headquarters halfway across the country. When his cousin had run into a pack of flyers cruising through that fucking beach town and nearly gotten himself offed, and left their forwarding address as a sign of good faith to save his own neck. Now he was gone...and they were down to only four…

He shifted his grip on his stake, he didn't want to do this, didn't want to drive it through his heart, but what other choice did he have? Would Keith ever be able to forgive him? He felt responsible for this mess, no one was supposed to come after Keith, he was supposed to be safe.

Outside, a loud crashing sound drew his attention, and Keith's eyes snapped open. It only took that one momentary lapse for his former friend to lash out and fling him across the room. Kenton let out a hiss of air as he slammed into the wall. He managed to collect himself quickly, going on the defensive. The ones turned this way, revenants, were vicious, working on pure instinct. They didn't have the intelligence or thought that the others did, they couldn't plan, but they would fight until death.

He stood there, facing Kenton, eyes black and glazed, face drawn into a hideous mask while he seemed to struggle to hold his head up on his half-mangled neck. There honestly wasn't enough muscle left in it to do him much good, and if the surviving hunter was lucky, he'd stake him before it could grow back, "Keeeen…" Keith gurgled, bloody saliva dripping from his purple lips as he stumbled forward, snarling through red-rimmed teeth.

He had to act fast but he couldn't be stupid about it either. There was no way he was going to let the creature attack him but at the same time he couldn't make the first move. He crouched low to the ground, stake at the ready. Keith moved, his speed not up to vampire yet but still too fast. He managed to duck out of the way, driving the stake into his back in one smooth motion. The revenant howled, his back arching as the stake was driven home. When he crumpled to the ground, the inky blackness faded from his eyes, and Keith...or the thing that had been Keith...was dead. For good.

Outside, three monsters went bump in the night. But they remained silent, while Sam peered through a shaded window.

"Impressive." Quinton said softly, looking thoughtful.

Alan was uneasy, having just watched that scene play out. _He_ wouldn't have been that fast. Hell, if he had been...maybe he'd still be human. He wasn't too sure he wanted to tangle with that guy either, especially now that he could feel the itch of his eyebrows growing back.

Sam looked at Alan, "I don't like this." He whispered.

"Shit, man," he replied, shaking his head, "...shit." That was about as eloquent as he could get right now.

Quinton moved calmly to the doorway stepping inside, "You look much like your great great great grandfather." He stated, looking over the young man.

Alan remained beside Sam, crossing his arms anxiously as they followed their leader at a distance. He was beginning to get a real idea where this was going now, and he _still_ didn't like it. He exchanged another look with Sam, debating whether or not he should say something or keep his mouth shut. A quick look back at Quinton and the hunter ahead of them made his choice for him.

Sam looked balefully at the spent corpse on the ground. A bit of blood right now would do them both good, but now the only available option had pretty much gone to waste...and it didn't look like the other guy was going to be on the menu. Not for them, anyway.

Kenton clenched his fists, keeping his eyes trained on the vampires in front of him, smart enough not to make direct eye contact while he remained at the ready to kneel down and yank the stake from Keith's body at any second. He knew he was outmatched, though...why were the others taking so long? Surely they should have been done by now…"you're dead," he whispered, recognizing the man from the photograph. Their founder. The guy who'd sacrificed himself to keep his ancestor alive.

"Am I?" He questioned, "No, I'm pleased to say that I'm not. You are quite talented." He slowly moved closer.

Kenton immediately stepped back, his thoughts running a mile a minute. There were various traps in the building, hidden supplies. It would only take a few well-planned moves, and he was sure he could at least take _one_ of them out. Maybe the little guy with the tufts of blonde hair sticking out of his head...he looked like an easy target, "thanks. I saw you work, can't say I'm impressed," he replied curtly, keeping the guy talking was his best option right now.

He chuckled softly, "I could use someone like you. Your talents should be preserved." He watched him closely, it was unlikely the tricks of the trade had changed a lot in the past few decades.

"I don't think so," he replied slowly, edging closer to the counter. He'd make a dive the moment the sleeper attacked, and pray to god he'd be quick enough to get the pellet gun, "thanks for the offer, though. I'm pretty fond of my current job. Can't beat the benefits."

He laughed, couldn't help himself, "Ahh, yes, the benefits of a shortened lifespan. I do remember the many _benefits_ of being a hunter." He paused briefly, "Come now, Kenton." How did he know his name? "Let's not make this more difficult than it has to be."

A split second, he was on the ground. Another second, he was sailing behind the corner of the counter. Another, and he had his hand on the pellet gun and the next, the sleeper's hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist. Kenton bit back a scream as he felt his bones nearly being crushed under the monster's grip.

"I don't believe I gave you the option." He jerked him close, pulling him tight to his chest, "You won't be a revenant, you're too good for that." He sank his teeth into his wrist, "Come, drink."

As tempting as a swear would have been, or a curse, or even a prayer, he had the training and intelligence to keep his mouth shut through the pain, drawing his leg back to kick the fucker in the shin, when the two others drew closer and stood on opposite sides of Kenton, eyes fixated on him with dark menace.

Quenton chuckled softly, "Hold him, boys." He ordered. It did no good to even try to struggle while each of them obediently took an arm to restrain him. Kenton grunted, trying to throw every ounce of strength he had into breaking their grips. It wasn't happening. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he prepared himself to bite his own tongue off, choke on it, and off himself before they got the chance to get any other use out of him.

Quinton acted quickly, grabbing his jaw and prying it open, forcing the bloody wound to his lips, "Drink." He caught his eye, pressing his will into him, "Drink, Kenton."

Dazed, the hunter's fight and plans immediately drained out of him, to be replaced by the rich, hot iron of the monster's blood. Silent, angry tears streaked his face. His last thought before the darkness began to overwhelm him was fear and worry for the rest of his group. Without him to guide them, they were dead meat.

* * *

"How's it coming?" Vanessa demanded hurriedly, squeezing her pliers over the padlock on the lot gate. She didn't have the time to climb it, and she was pretty sure Eric wouldn't either...if the screaming she heard in the distance was anything to judge by. "Ralph, he's coming! They're probably coming too!" She urged, practically shouting back at him.

"All setup!" He shouted back, aiming his light toward the gate. Right on cue, Eric came screaming around the corner, and he was far from the brave asshole he generally liked to pretend he was...

"Eric, what the-" Vanessa exclaimed, yanking the gate open, and her eyes widened when she saw three of them sailing after him in the air, the ones she'd been following...of course he'd find them, or they'd find him...of _course_ he couldn't be competent enough to properly hide when they showed up.

"Ralph, tilt the lamps!" She shrieked, "tilt them, tilt them, _**TILT THEM**_!" She pointed up at the sky. Where were the other two? Oh god, had Eric actually-...no, they were coming now...she could just see them in the distance...walking.

Ralph acted fast, tilting the lights and turning them on, catching Eric in the UV glow. The moment he was in the safety of the light he breathed a sigh of relief. Ralph scowled, why were those two walking?

The second the lights hit the sky, it caught one of the flyers in the arm, and he gave out a loud screeching sound, tumbling to the ground to brace his arm. The other two exchanged a glance and flew back, joining him just as Eric finally managed to make it to the gate. The pair walking behind exchanged looks with the rest, and they drew back.

"What are they doing?" Vanessa whispered, stepping back from the gate and pocketing her pliers.

"Shit, what do you think they're doing?" Eric asked, breathing deeply, "They don't wanna get fried."

"Talking," Ralph replied slowly, gesturing for them to get in the car, "flyers talk," he tapped his head.

Eric slid into the car, "I don't wanna know what they're saying, let's get out of here."

Vanessa nodded, stepping back towards the car, her eyes still fixed on the little one with the wounded arm as he grinned back at her and blew a kiss. "We'd...better reconnect with Kenton and Keith…" She murmured.

* * *

" _Fuck! That hurt! Goddammit!"_ Marko hissed, examining his wounded arm.

" _Want Davey to kiss and make it all better?"_ Paul cackled in his head, landing several feet away and grinning over at him.

Dwayne offered Marko a hand, rolling his eyes. The humans were driving off now, too cowardly to bring the fight back to them in full force. Marko always seemed to be the one who got caught in the crossfire first.

" _Do we follow them?"_ Michael glanced at David, " _or what? What next?"_

David shook his head, " _No, done with them. Let's head for the border and see if we can't catch up with little Sammy."_ He glanced at Marko, " _You're already healing, don't be a baby."_

" _Can we come back and eat them later, then?"_ Marko whined, cradling his arm even more dramatically. " _I_ _need_ _the nourishment now…"_

David rolled his eyes, " _I'll think about it. Let's get going, we're losing moonlight."_

Michael was sorely tempted to just turn back now, tell mom Sam had decided to join the Hare Krishnas or some shit and be done with it. But they'd come this far. It would be a waste if he didn't at least catch his idiot brother long enough to give him a piece of his mind. God only knew what they'd do after that.

David glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, " _What do you think we should do?"_

He sighed, " _I don't really know."_

The leader chuckled, " _I'll think of something good."_ He looked at the boys, " _Let's go."_ He headed for his bike, they had a bit of ground to cover before seeking shelter. But they were getting closer. Maybe they'd even catch up tonight. At least that was David's plan.

Paul nudged Marko's shoulder, still sporting his shit-eating grin, " _don't think we're stopping for any happy meals tonight,"_ he offered a wrist, " _just don't take too much, huh?"_

Marko looked up at him gratefully before sinking his fangs in and taking a couple swallows, " _Thanks."_

Marko never said thanks, Paul eyed him skeptically, " _Yeah, don't get sappy."_

" _Shut up,"_ Marko pulled away, licking the blood from his teeth.

" _That was so sweet,"_ Michael snorted, straddling his bike.

David was the first one off, as per usual, Michael close behind him as they sped off toward Mexico.

* * *

This was, without a doubt, an absolutely miserable night. She could hardly believe they were still alive, given the numbers they'd seen back at the impound lot, and the fact she was certain there were at least three others to contend with. But _now..._ she could clearly make out the beam of light glaring out of the bank as she pulled over and flipped off the car engine. The doors had been ripped clean off of their hinges...and she didn't honestly think even for a second Keith or Kenton had decided spur of the moment to do some remodeling.

"Guys...get your stakes ready," she whispered, climbing out of the car and slowly crossing the small dirt road.

Ralph and Eric were quick to draw their weapons, both alert and on edge. Neither of the men were nearly as quick to make their way in the dark as her, and she was fairly sure she was walking about as fast as a geriatric snail. But they could only stall for so long, and soon...she was edging into the building.

"Oh god," she whispered, staring at Keith's crumpled form on the ground, stake driven through his back, "oh...god…" her eyes darted around, while she kept her stake raised in a defensive stance.

Eric was the first one in after her, his eyes immediately going to Keith's body, "Fuck." He swallowed back bile. He had seen a lot over the years but this...this was one of theirs.

"Search…" Vanessa's voice cracked, and she took a deep breath to steady herself, "search the perimeters. Find Kenton..."

Ralph was quick to start looking, his eyes falling on a sheet of paper, "Vanessa...I don't think we have to look…" His hands shook as he held it out to her. She snatched it away, scanning the contents.

"Oh…" Her bottom lip quivered, "oh god…" She slowly lowered it, turning towards Eric, "he's…he's one of them. He doesn't want us to follow him…" She sobbed, "he's feeding _tonight_!"


	7. Saying Goodbyes

Alan and Sam sat on a bench together sharing a bag of Twizzlers as they watched their newest pack member approaching a woman under the streetlight across the road, Quinton at an even further distance.

"He's lasting longer than you did," Alan remarked, taking a bite of his candy and tearing the remaining half of it away. He was fairly impressed. Much less terrified, now that the hunter was one of them, "bet he could make it a whole day if Quinton let him."

They'd decided to use one of the hunter's vehicles, seeing as fetching the van now would probably draw a lot more attention than they wanted. Sam had done more than his fair share of carnage and newsworthy stunts. Now, about two hours down the road and thirty minutes shy of dawn, they were mostly concerned about getting the former hunter fed and holing up for the day.

"Hey, you even listening?" Alan nudged Sam's shoulder. The blonde had been fairly quiet throughout their drive. It wasn't like him, the old Sam or the new somewhat insane one. Alan was terrified of ever finding out how Ed would act if their sire took a liking to him too. Lucky thing pretty much nobody could handle more than a day of his brother mouthing off at them, so it wasn't likely.

"What? Sorry, was thinking." He looked over at his friend, brother, is that what they were now? "Quinton keeps looking at him funny, don't you think?"

"Jealous?" Alan snorted, "you are turning into such a little bitch…"

"No, not jealous, just it's weird." He glared at Alan, "I mean, just look how closely he watches him."

Alan glanced over at the hunter, "probably just thinks he's gonna make a break for it if he doesn't. Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it matters, gotta watch our backs if he gets special treatment."

The Frog brother shoved a Twizzler under Sam's nose, "chill out. He's not going to ditch us for better models…" He paused, "you afraid he'll just off us if he loses interest?"

"Aren't you?" He eyed Kenton as the new vampire glanced back at Quinton with a glare before finishing his approach to the young woman, "Gotta keep things interesting."

"...he'd have killed Ed already." Alan looked down at his feet, frowning, "I made a deal with him. We're fine, Sam." He took another bite of candy, "I think."

"What kind of deal?" He scowled as Kenton easily started talking to the girl, making no immediate move to attack, "Why doesn't he just grab her?"

"Maybe he's like your brother. More self-control," Alan suggested, pointedly ignoring the other question.

Kenton wrapped an arm around her shoulders, walking with her down the street, "What deal did you make?" He asked again.

"I just agreed to stop fighting with him...and he wouldn't kill Ed…" Suddenly the Twizzler wasn't quite as satisfying, "you're lucky. You can probably get a free pass to call your mom and bro whenever you want...I basically have to just...disappear…"

He shook his head, "I don't want them to see me like this." He said softly, "Not even Mike."

"...so you just want to disappear."

"It would be easier. Wouldn't it?" He cringed as a muffled scream cut the night.

"Coming from the guy who tried to save me from eating people? When did you suddenly start picking the easy option?" Alan snorted, "it'd kill your mom if you pull this."

"What am I supposed to do? Yeah, sorry mom, I eat people? _That_ would kill her."

"You can lie, dipshit. Say you're moving, making a fresh start, working on an oil rig...anything is better than the truth."

He sighed, looking down at his lap, "I'll see what Quinton says."

"Yeah, gotta check with _daddy,_ first," Alan snorted.

"Shut up, asshole." He shook his head, at least his tone was all in good fun, more like the old Sam.

Kenton re-appeared, scrubbing at his chin with a torn piece of fabric, looking only half-aware of his surroundings. The first feeding looked like it was hitting him pretty hard. A lot like Sam. He stumbled into Quinton, looking dazed as their maker guided him to sit on a bench.

"I did my part…" He mumbled, blinking several times, "don't...hurt them…"

Quinton stroked through his hair gently, "Shh, I always uphold my deals." He soothed. For a moment, Alan pondered whether he could convince Quinton to let him call and check if Ed had gone home, but he decided not to press his luck.

"You really should call your family, Sam," he sighed.

He nodded, "Yeah, I will."

"Before your bro notices you're gone," he smirked.

He let out a snort, "Might be too late for that."

Alan jerked to attention, an uneasy feeling coming over him. "You smell that?" He looked around nervously, noting an odd tension in the way Quinton was sitting on the other bench now. There was an odd earthy quality to the scent assaulting him right now. Familiar…

"Mike?" Sam practically squeaked, eyes wide.

And suddenly, there he was, leaning under the same streetlamp Kenton had lured the girl from, sweeping down from the sky in one smooth motion, "Sam," he ground out, nodding to his brother.

"What're you doing here?"

"Mom's dying. Figured you'd like to know before you played your fucking disappearing act on her," he'd pretty much heard the whole thing.

He swallowed hard, his eyes going wide, "W-What?"

Michael remained motionless, eyeing Quinton, "cancer. I haven't told her about you, yet. I don't plan to, unless you fight me on this. You need to see her, tell her you're moving. In person. That gonna be a problem?" The last question was aimed at Quinton.

Alan shifted in his seat, gazing at the sky. He couldn't see the others, but didn't doubt they'd be nearby. Sam had told him all about Michael and the others...he wasn't too sure he'd be safe if they saw him. Especially the one with the Twisted Sister fetish.

"No, it won't be a problem, Michael, was it?" Quinton said, watching them.

"Yeah, I'll go, I'll see her."

Michael nodded, "good." He glanced upwards, "Michael. Yeah. Guess I don't have to remind you to stay out of Santa Carla."

Quinton chuckled softly, "I will only be there long enough for Samuel to say his goodbyes."

Alan nudged Sam's shoulder, "see? Still his favourite." Well, if they were all going back anyway, who was to know if he popped over to Ed's for a quick check-up...

* * *

David was true to his word. They'd kept their distance on the trip back, but when it finally came down to visiting their mom together, his urge to attack his younger brother was practically non-existent. Or, at least muted enough to keep from growling at him every few minutes.

"I just don't understand, Sam," Lucy sobbed, rubbing her eyes while they trailed along the shore together, just barely avoiding the water licking at their shoes.

"I'm sorry, I just need a fresh start, ya know? I need to get away from the hunting." He swallowed hard, "Mom, I love you, I just…"

"Will you at least visit?" She urged, lowering her hand.

He nodded, "I'll try, I'll call all the time though, I promise."

"If he doesn't call, mom, I'll go over to his new place and drag him back," Michael added, squeezing her shoulder.

She laughed softly, nodding, "I...I understand, Sam. After what happened to you, I know Santa Carla has a lot of bad memories," she sighed. "The moon is so beautiful tonight. So big. Don't you boys think so?"

"...yeah, mom," Michael agreed quietly.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, it's really pretty." He looked up at it. It really was a nice night. They hadn't talked about what would happen, but they both knew Sam wasn't coming back. So they just let it remain unspoken, and enjoyed the last night they'd ever be together with their mom again.

"How about a snow cone?" Lucy smiled, "how does that sound?"

* * *

"Thanks for helping me carry my things back to your place," Edgar grunted at Grandpa Emerson before he loaded up his final box of comics in the backseat. "I'll be at your place in an hour...still gotta get my clothes."

The old man snorted, taking off into the night to leave Edgar to his thoughts. It hadn't taken much persuading. Lucy had been thrilled at the idea of letting him move in. She didn't have a lot of company these days.

He couldn't get his brother out of his head. Hadn't been able to since he'd almost been bodily dragged to the bus station. If he thought even for a second that his brother wanted to come back and find a cure, he'd leap into his car and head straight back to that last town they'd been in faster than you could say his name...but no word from Alan at all since he'd been thrown in the drunk tank.

Ed took a moment to enjoy his last day of independent bachelor pad living, when he noticed something that hadn't been there the last trip to gather his things. A note pinned to the door…

"Ed, I know you want to come after me. I'm going to miss you but I don't want you coming after me. I'm going to move forward with my life, well, unlife I guess. I'm going to keep you safe, just stay with Lucy, take care of her. Sam told me what happened, how she's sick. Thanks for always having my back and I'm sorry we couldn't fix this one. Go forward with your life, make a new one, and make it good! Love you, Alan"

He couldn't believe it. Ed's jaw dropped in sheer astonishment...he knew Alan well enough to read between the lines. His brother...wanted to be rescued. He tore the letter from the door and scanned the contents again and again. He was going to need to stock up. Better preparation...brush up on his research skills.

"Don't worry, Alan," he vowed. "I'm going to save you!" He paused. "Once Lucy gets better…"


End file.
